Sacred: A Poem

It is the

holy of holies,

not to be

entered, never

uttered.

And yet it

lies in

wait, perched

at the tip

of my tongue,

teasing me

with its 

flutter.

If listening 

comes

soft and light,

you will know 

it by the 

heartbeat

underneath.

And when you 

are ready 

it will

become 

your own.

And then 

we will

hum 

in the night

while we 

sleep,

and dream 

of wings 

that lift 

us as we 

rush against 

the wind

of our deepest

longing,

aloft in the 

heart

of our 

very own

deep blue sky.