I just came in from the cold outside,
and pushed the door closed
in my fight against the storm to be here.
It’s colder out there than it should be,
and so very unkind to the working of my bones.
***
It’s deep in my hands and knees, this cold,
settling in where the heat once refused to go at all,
but is willing, now, to warm and transform me.
You wait like a fire on the other side of a single door,
and all I have to do is find my way in, and enter.
***
I walk across a giant room towards you,
crossing both a frozen ocean and a bed of coals.
I bring good wood to feed your fire,
carrying it through the forest and into town.
I keep finding myself coming here,
day after day, night after night;
storm after storm, fire after fire.
It is no secret that I am here.
***
I am a mapless wanderer,
stumbling into and out of lives
searching for the Touch,
the one others mistook as motion
when in fact it was a caress,
not a movement of the hand alone,
but a Word.
Copyright 2025 Kesel Wilson (entirely, 100% human-created)
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Kesel Wilson 