my sore and dusty feet
carry me around the walls
of old Jerusalem.
I wait for the moment,
a break in the clouds,
an opening door
and a beckoning finger,
a soft, whispered call.

each day now carries scents of summer
and there are sweet seconds of relief,
when I do not feel the chains around my lungs
when I forget that I am convicted
and more - that I am guilty.

I have prayed a thousand prayers today
but only a word or two,
or a sigh or two,
are true enough to make it up to heaven.

The rain will come
and fall on the sinners and the saints.
My sore and dusty feet washed clean
I'll wait for the moment,
a break in the clouds,
an opening door,
a gentle offering of shelter.

woman,
I am guilty.

she hushes me in the candlelight.

woman,
forgive me.

she touches me and she is rain
she quietens me and she is shelter.

woman,
do not leave me.

she closes me in the lonely night.