Reading me

photo of journal

You read me, don’t you, Holy One?
You see my hopes
You feel my fear
You know the quick intake of breath that opens up my heart.

The thing is …
When you read aloud, as you sometimes do,
I hear the story, new.
It is as if I meet myself
Within those spoken words.

And – this is the mystery –
I like what I hear.
My story held in the timber of your voice,
Turns beautiful.


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