Everglade, a line on the wall.
The vision flares up and then it sticks –
for mercy and grace surround it as it feeds
then leaves it to chart its own road.
A baby’s belly. Dried food on a shirt.
The vision knows its worth, but is chewed
to crumbs by survival’s demands and by faith
that falls when it is called to risk everything.
The vision is fuelled by love as people hurry by
with hopes of security
which mean nothing at death.
I am out of the whale, into the ocean.
The fly in the corner never had its say.
The vision is God in my bloodstream.
It takes the last morsel with promises
of returning the soul completed,
blanketed in much more than antiseptic hearsay
Copyright © 2004 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “In Between…
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