After midnight, sleepless for the thousandth night, I take the dog walking. The waxing gibbous moon sinks beyond tendril clouds. The sound of leaves falling seems to require something but I forget what. It was always this way.
But was it? These forest trails don't really remember me: I remember them. The man without shoes could walk anywhere. How many women must I make crawl across cut glass just to hear a kind word?
Well, we are who we are. We make contact with what is eternal and are correspondingly gratified. A few stars, a breeze in the pine trees. All of this has been offered up and yet here I am still, walking through it, as if I really don't want Jesus, really don't care for love.
Only once have I mentioned her name here, and quickly took it back. We are all scared of something. A taste of Heaven recalled in the body is not Heaven, merely a hint of the memory of Heaven. Don't get hung up on improvements, just look for the gate you hid a long time ago.
The dog comes in later and I sit up in bed writing. My heart wants to climb out of my chest. Well, one day it will. In the meantime, this.