When the night
folds its dark blue fingers
like ribbons weaving smoothly above me,
my breathing slows and calms
and I am covered in deepest peace
When the dark night
folds its fingers over me
I feel You knitting me
(me, one formerly in pieces);
You circle Hands around my ribs
and gently draw me close,
softly pull me in.
(It is only here that I feel free enough to breathe.)
There is no touch like Yours.
Your shouts are whispers,
Your fierceness is sweet.
There is a Lion within the Lamb;
yes, it was the Soft Voice that startled me.
From One Wounded to another,
You enfold gently, You sing songs in the night:
“Only Me, child. Think only on Me,
and I promise you a world you could never dream”.
For in the weaving I am waiting;
when this dizzy heart is breaking,
it’s Your face I reach out and touch.