HOLY

They lie in sinless sleep, blankets tossed, half off the bed

brows and cheeks begging to be kissed

reverently, like sacred

bodies weighted with the breath of the angels

keeping vigil by their beds.

Devotion moves in ruffles like feathers,

in pulses through my body like blood to the heart,

sapping wearied anger from my veins,

sweeping away thoughts of stained or spilled or torn,

all self removed.

Only Love moves in this air,

fills it, demands the space,

giving the faintest nod to contrition

obeisant in the doorway.

Love presses cells in Hands like a vice

lest they combust from beauty,

lest I behold and die.

This hard hewn floor is holy ground,

eternal, magnetic,

pulling me to my knees

to kiss toes, unwashed,

nails etched with mud,

to bless the Lord, O my soul,

to confess, I am unworthy,

to keep silent vigil with the guardians

till eyelids open,

till the new mercy dawns.