The Vision I Had

Floating to the house now and all is light
Such warm and guiding light.
The house of God—I’ve always known it—
Small and swelling
With quiet joy.
Entering the house now,
Dirty boots line the entranceway,
Coats on the rack.

And all is quiet.

There are no lights, no fixtures,
But the sun through the windows
Is warm and bright
And sustaining.
The kitchen smells of delight
The food makes itself.
Upstairs, the beds are all made
And the air is thin and breathable
As it floats through the windows,
Passing over the flower boxes at every sill.
Out back the great oak tree stretches
To the skies as the men and women of my life
Lay on its thick, strong branches reclining
And denying any sense of effort or fear.
They ask me to join them,
But I’m not ready. I’d rather chase
The monarch butterfly in the yard,
The dew of the grass on my bare feet
—sweet to taste and soft to touch—

Mere droplets of God’s love—
Which is in everything, always,
Waiting for us to come home.