A Sacred Act

Image: Creek – Photo by Ron Grimes

A Sacred Act

She strolls along the creek at dawn
Recounting yesterday’s sorrows.
Each stab of pain is a window
Her heart and mind would open.

Her mind reminds her hands
Of the distant fog, wherein
She will have to move to gain
The path where flowers blow.

Her lips form no smile,
For she has lost her joy
In the fields of despair
Laced up with tendrils of desire.

Still, the strolling must cease
At her pleachèd doorstep.
She will practice stillness.
Truth will lead without wings.

Yesterday’s sorrows will fade
Love knocking at the door
Of her heart and she will
Learn at last for certain

That opening the door
Is, indeed, a sacred act.

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