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.