From the window
I lose myself in myself:
the soft red barn in the field draws near,
it will soon be close enough for me to enter.
I open the wide wood door and finally rest
in that homely, most natural of all cathedrals.
December disappears:
the pain in my chest I can ignore,
there is an immense calm that comes
with not remembering. Like a believer
who receives the Host
I am fervent tranquil.
I kneel upon the worn wood floor,
look upward in this good silence.