Trembling leaf clinging to the wire fence.
I see my name etched in your gold veins.
The way your precarious perch has made you heart-shaped.
Your translucence can't but let the light shine through.
You are stretched from tip to stem-end.
Clinging for life, holding on by a bare curl.
And yet...
The CROSS bars hold you, and you lie quivering in this bare trust.
Silly leaf.
Don't you know that the wind will come and blow you away from your wired perch?
Crazy leaf.
Don't you know that you're already dead?
Brave leaf,
Wise leaf,
Wonderful leaf.
I think you must know that to die is to live.
And I see purpose in all that is desperate.
I understand now why you tremble at each blast of the wind.
He Who cut you heart-shaped is near.
And His breath will take you home.
Bernadette
I know I've been away from your writing for awhile, Dear One, but I'm coming up for air, wanting to reconnect with you in every way. And this poem? Beautiful, haunting, profound. And isn't this you and me both, "stretched from tip to stem-end, clinging for life, holding on by a bare curl"? It's the final lines I can't shake from my soul: "He Who cut you heart-shaped is near, and His breath will take you home." It is hard not to tremble under the fierceness of these storms, yes? But what if we could really believe it's the breath of God rushing over us, through us, right down into us? I'm closing my eyes and breathing this in because He *is* near and I need to keep repeating it. All my love to you.
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