a poem by Jay Emerson Johnson
Few have been this preoccupied with tents
since you recklessly pitched one among us.
I would have chosen something more stable,
not quite so porous and vulnerable,
safe, secure, readily significant,
and missed the whisper of evening breezes,
the restless susurration of canvas,
and that one appearing in the shadows,
light flinting off flesh in a fading sun,
fireflies dancing in the night,
rousing my longing
to step into your own
luminous darkness.
See Jay's blog: peculiarfaith.com .
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