In this sanctuary of cats, guitars and clay,
words descend from white clouds
bringing us breath through the window pane.
In this home of perfect love
and hardwood floors, strong angels
lean against every door, conversing
with playful ease amongst themselves.
In these rooms we curl together
until we feel an alternate, inseparable beating.
The ceilings are covered in cobwebs
like birthday string, and our bed
is a cavern for miraculous dreams.
In this happy corner, we have been given
a space in time to mould into our own,
where there is no protection and no facades,
where laughter rolls like tears do as soon
as the movement hits, and the day’s brightness
pours in at 10 am, telling us in this genesis season
that all is here and all is good.
Copyright © 2000 by Allison Grayhurst
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