getting there

We're tilting towards you, we're bending back as a stem leans towards the sun through a nearby window- it cannot hide, or draw the shades nor can we (or even wish to) hide. We're coming out, we're leaving darkness with palms and heels dragging behind us, and faces stretching forward and upward; we Gleam. The rest of our bodies follow with timid motions tripping over each step and stopping to dwell in the hurt- the biting pain of raw knees against rocky earth over and over again until the wounds are familiar and we feel them all the time. But you- you are the river, the end. where our Friend stands inviting us to wade, ready to share with us the healing you have invented, beneath the cool cover of water. we fall in as broken pieces and emerge all solid and white, like dust turned to hard wet clay- You can hold us now, we can feel you now. once scattered, now collected. once exhiled, now welcomed.