When I wrote this poem, I had been traveling for two weeks and was looking at traveling for another two weeks. I do enjoy travel; but not alone. I was driving to my sister's house at sunset in Indiana, and as I kept passing farm houses lit up with either oil lamps or soft electric light, I longed to be home in both the physical and spiritual sense. I was tired and I wanted to belong somewhere. I thought of how lovely it would be to spend time with my sister and stay at her house instead of a hotel, and the grace of God descended into my thoughts and I praised Him.
Caesura
My eye is drawn to the window light;
warm lamp of the resting farmhouse,
dusk safely moving toward a slow supper.
Soft
soft, soft.
A sleeping toddler,
conversation with my sister
and the real self I try to display along with
pamphlets, powerpoint and lights.
My caesura,
my gift of desperation
to step aside and breathe
to turn away and weep
to close my eyes, to smile in secret.
Breathe on me, Selah.
Spirit's logic my warm fire,
the knowlege of you exhales passion
over the cold, wet gravel.
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