Broken open she says, I see you.

These tears run quiet and again
I am nowhere,
waiting for the knowing to bloom,
an ornament in my hands

in the doing that must finally come to pass,
a matter I have shelved for days beyond here,
an hour easily put off forever she warns.

If I wait, time begins to sag
beneath the burden of idleness.
If I leap, if I grow faith-wings, if

But my heart aches with each step forward.
How can I carry this gift into creation?
I nearly crumble into a million shards of doubt.

It is that you must give she says
the song made for your voice alone.

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