altar. (III)

If water does recede

and all my drowning fades,

yearning reaches,

arms stretching into the dark,

hands grasping

at leaves of living trees,

paling heights

and down from tides

and tattered skies,

clouded minds

breaking open

flood with light,

how then may I

meet your promise?

I build an altar in my head

where all the lies were stored and fed,

where anxiety was my best friend,

and where despair met with

the thought of death;

And in my heart now stones erect,

an altar too for wine and bread

to consecrate - this change I bless -

where clammy hands of fear once led

to darker caves - and love, it bled -

built up a idol there to dread,

and in the flood you let it drown,

but saved myself instead.