Piled, Pierced, and at Peace

See her, here.

Broken tops and
edges gathered softly and
with gentle timing.
Rubble, rubbish,
ruin and remains

racked up,
just so…just so.

Holes and wounds gaping,
whistling and singing in
every flickering breeze,
and light running
full and free
wherever She sends,
wherever She leads.

I am Her Tor,
Her Tribute,
Her Trophy
and my heart
is Her Altar
Spilling Grace


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