In your closet—

there, where you go to pray

and speak of things in secret

you would not dare to speak aloud:

     Skeletons,

broken bones, reckless ruin,

heaps of shame for which you blame

yourself and inhale darkened cloud.

In my life—

here, where I wander free

and dream of things in nature

I would not dare to do in life:

     Formless Void,

emptiness, starving child,

lack of love for which I shove

myself and exhale raging flame.

In our hour—

now, when we wish away

things born of sin and sorrow,

we breathe in life granted to us:

     Brought to Life,

whole again, phoenix pure
in open sky, newborn cry
at first light in far freedom's field.

In our day—

reckoning, beginning,

found and no more lost at sea,

we breathe out life living in us:

     Brought to Love,

filled again, beauty born

in welcome home, protective dome

and first night in the dream alive.