The warmth on my face heals me

Like healing honey pouring

Into the deep lost places

God’s hand reaching and squeezing....

Whispers that come in the night

Often carry further than those in the day.

My soul and spirit lay bare as I dream.

Satan whispers lies about my body,

Incompetence

Relationships.

Residue lingering at first light

Slowing my steps to coffee and cream.

Oh that You would be my shield

Daggers with my name on them

Lining the ground, quicken my step

Into a day of promise....

Sometimes I wonder why the

basis of our friendships don’t begin in art.

What we create is a beautiful picture of

what’s in the heart, losing

any cover of what isn’t.

Why is it so hard

to reveal our souls to another, to

leave ourselves whole in the hands of the

Master.

(Golden shovel from “One Art” by Elizabeth Bishop)...