April 24–30 ❘ Vision

Vision

I’ve heard that in the temple
spirits sometimes slip through
to visit the living in the midst
of whispered prayer,

but they’ve never come to me.
I do my duty uninterrupted,
make my sacrifices,
cast coins into the treasury,

always in the same offering box
where once I heard a young man say
that he was the light of life
that could burn through any fog
between me and the Father,
if only I would believe.
I stopped to listen,
but my friends swept me away,
murmuring, “He has a devil.”

Sometimes I ponder
his bright words.
Blind as I am, perhaps God
has a work to manifest in me,
a way to wash this clay
so I can see.

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