I thought wine was the gift, so I complained
when the intoxication wore off.
Now I find seedlings of Your mercy
scattered everywhere –
roses along the spine, their scent,
years later, reaching my nostrils
and the still, quiet pool beneath my ribs,
the grassy meadows, the web of rills.
I’d packed for a long journey. You motioned
for me to set down my bags
and share one last cup.
Becoming inconsolable, drunk and unruly,
the taxi left without me.
You led me back inside.
There’s a garden in my chest
and You’ve invited me to stick around ‘til spring.
O child of God, whatever the Beloved has planned for you,
be sure it’s nothing like what you imagine.