I believe, but I don’t understand
and I’m not convinced it isn’t all a hoax.
I’m not convinced it isn’t just a book
and we are all standing in quicksand, holding up our Bibles and our faith with trembling hearts.
I have, on occasion felt a touch, so dreamy it made me wonder if this were the one and only real thing that ever existed. Making life the fairytale.
Making this world the one we should question.
Such a shame our pain is so heavy, so daily that we build our lives around it. So confident it will return day after day that we leave our doors open and porch lights on so as not to appear surprised at the sound of its hand unlocking the barriers and stepping into our sanctuaries. While love, denied entry, is so light that we pull our curtains closed and shut our windows to keep us from being disturbed by its whispering and cool touch against our skin, relieving our fretful nights and thoughts of calamity with a single kiss.
I want to meet my God. I want to be touched again, comforted and confident that I am loved. Loved so deeply that without explanation I am picked up and carried to the comfort of a warn leather couch in direct view of the morning sun.