At the Tassel’s Edgde

At the Tassel’s Edge

He always hears.

Never a time passes

where He is too busy

to enter into Sacred Unity —

where we, bodily,

consider Him entirely,

and He responds immediately,

as if He had longed for us.

Where we enter into oneness

with the Father through You —

Lord Glorious Yeshua,

Name above all names;

by brilliance personified, Holy Spirit,

where we glimpse the fringes,

the tassel of Your garment

as You pass by the mountain.

We humble ourselves before You,

in tongue-tied silence,

admonished by our lack of literacy.

We offer to You what was always Yours:

ourselves, in this moment fully present,

to bring our tattered tassels,

what we once called glory,

to lay as an offering at Your feet.

So greatly desired are You by this moth —

that I linger ever closer

to that blazing inferno,

the once-flickering flame,

the first fire,

flying round foolishly,

warmed while burned,

ash to Sire.

As always,

Dust,

To you,

For you,

From Him,

In me.