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Remembering Who I Am {Poem}

I don’t know how long I was in the desert.

The days boiled

and the nights froze.

The sky brought no rain

and the wind brought no relief,

only sand to blind the eyes

and heat to burn the lungs.

Forty days passed

like forty years,

slow as the mountains grow.

I was a young man

when I walked into that desert,

but I had gray in my hair

and gray in my beard

when I finally arrived

at your gate.

You called me in.

You called my name,

the name my father called me

before I left.

You gave me a cup of water,

then a cup of wine.

There will be a feast tonight,

you say,

to honor what was lost

and now found.

You guide my steps

through your garden.

You open the face

of every flower.

You conduct this symphony

of birdsong.

How could I have been

so deaf and blind?

All those years

of missing miracles

right underneath my feet…

Now my eyes are open.

Now I remember who I am.

I stretch out my open hands

and your love flows like a river

through my fingertips.


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