you may see a stranger, you may
see a stranger across a crowded room . . .
and o how many and often a crowd of strangers
comes between that beautiful One and myself!
Taps on the shoulder, the commandeering of elbows,
various pitches; elaborate dances and wild melees
all the while my trying to keep a steady eye
on the stranger moving silently through the room.
Moving pure and graceful through the room,
parting the crowd effortlessly with each step.
Seeming to come nearer . . . ever nearer.
An irresistible urge to touch His garment;
an effort to tear myself away from the others;
to push through, move beyond;
fly to Him, fly to that preternatural,
healing figure of enchantment.
O child of God, how many and often a crowd
comes between you and your true Self.