My heart
My heart is a dust-laden bell,
long time silent, ensconced in a tower
of a snowed-in chapel at the woods’ edge,
ashes cold in the hearth,
no footprints leading to or from.
My heart is an unused muscle
aching at the least exertion and stretch –
tender, quaking, ineffectual.
My heart is keen for the spring breeze
this winter to break its immobile silence.
God is nearing my house and I want that bell
to swing, shine and sing at His arrival;
a roar in the hearth; my limber, compliant heart
stretched out in the warmth like a doormat at His feet.
O child of God, it’s a painful journey
from head to heart, from fear to love.
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