Stable Epiphany

You wonder about unconditional love, if you’re even capable, the grace of a baby left on the border of night and day, smallest voice in the void, in a dark world divided. Of have-nots humming another’s hymns deemed gospel. And coming in from the cold. The book and a baby forced to read it back when. Pages sewn in blue to an imaginary womb. You take. You eat. You chew it all and wonder how in the endless loop of inns you’re from: Behold, I stand at the door and knock… wasn’t there always room for one more?

Photo Credit: Ari Landworth