My heart

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.