From beyond the edges

of time’s constricting vessel,
so often latched to place,
from perpetual hidden source
of the prodigal soul
she knew to be her own,
if strangely foreign
to her present circumstance,
a great wind rose and
wrapped itself around,
unraveling those fears
that bound her.

Three-tiered skies
rearranged themselves,
and even her rigid resistance
could not stave off
the howling judgment
that roared and rushed
like a thousand voices
to engulf her doubt,
to cleanse her disbelief,
to immerse her complete
in the many gifts
of the One.

Her desert past merged
with a blank-sky future,
both submerged
by force of grace
in a swirling fury of now
that unleashed within her
a terrible hope
wrestling with the invisible
without and within
as the storm’s howl
swallowed the sound
of her small cry.