The Word

A door
Closed
Keyless
An impregnable barrier to a world just out of reach.
Another door
Rapier-like splinters
Prison bar stripes
Through the keyhole—
         Desert
Barren
              dry
                      deserted
Lusterless opportunity
Until choosing
with eyes not my own to
open
it.

Reaching
Blood not my own springs from my fingertips
Splashes the keyhole
A whisper!
Then it’s gone.
The door opens
Dawn rips through ragged mountaintops
each a gift to climb
Then I sense
        I’m not alone
A Presence
        echoes through the mountains
Alluring me
onward.
That same whisper
kisses my ear.
I climb
A footprint
the color of wine
passes before
The whisper grows louder
Now a still small voice
Saying—I daren’t say
But like dew it soaks my thirsty heart
once limestone, now saturated sponge.
A sprig of green along the path
Another splash of red
I press on.

Travelers cross my path
Hearts parched as mine was
I squeeze my sponge until it’s dry
so they too can hear the voice.
I stagger up the path
       Panting
                  to hear that voice.
Unyielding silence.
My stiff heart can only bleed
“Faint, yet pursuing”
At last I’ve clawed my way
to the summit
Touched the gauzy clouds
A shout!
Both clear and deafening

In the valley are dark shadows
of people passing by
The air is full of bubbles
heavy and immense
Each packed with all earth’s oceans
and labeled with a name
Every name is present
written out in blood
The shout rings from each sphere
Shout upon shout
       echoing
              raw joy
uttering
            one
                   word:
                            Loved
                                      Loved
                           Loved.

Green floods the wasteland
Again the door floats forward
Healing splinters, freeing stripes
Dripping at the keyhole
Whispering, echoing, shouting
          Loved.
As it had all along.