Thursday, June 2, 2011
What will it be like?
What will I be like?
Will I be graceful as I disembark,
dreaming yet awake, with all my
ghosts, into the newness of "we"?
Will my hair be smooth?
Will my seams be straight?
When well-rehearsed phrases dissolve
into wordless gratitude,
Will it even matter?
Twin souls, weary of estrangement,
ready to mend,
In separate places in separate times:
We each unknowingly raised this cup
from that eternal wellspring which
loves us both.
We now sip from that cup, together,
And give praise.