It must have been the prayer from my breath
or the Northern Flicker that escorted me through the woods.
This bright home of coming to ground
and the beckoning horizon of my life so far journeyed.
Swept away here in the diming hour.
This temple that beckons my arrival,
these soft ripples of the rivers I walk through
hold the crown of light the sun hath made.
I, like fire and all ascending angels draw together to love the threshold we’ve come to pass.