Omphē

Little stars wash the sky over—Her spine, bridge-of-lights—eyes climb.

For His Keep

Readily and willingly, thirsting for His keep.

He calms my edges into willing submission. As I am is gold to Him.

I watch You as You weigh these gifts and taste them— each one something to unwrap when and as You please.

I tumble over—rapture of overflow, no boundary to keep me composed. Tears quake me wide awake, raw, vulnerable.