A Postcard from the Edge

This is the division between
Limit and sight.
This is the veil before the light.

This edge of the old world
Begins the new -
Here all things are clear and true.

My cup is brimming, I am full
And ready to pour -
Here is what I am for.

I have reached the top of Jacob's ladder -
This place
With its split face

Signals me the whole and all
Of what we do
Of what we are

And I, its translator
Must send these postcards home
To tell them.

The gifts of my vocation
Are deliberate, are heaven-sent.
My voice is not my own.

Here be angels with their wings.
Here my heart rings all gold -
Ore finely fashioned.

I am nightingale to my own life -
Well-worth the tortuous ascent
To live within this radiance -

To see the truth of time
To understand the paradigm
To know God face-to-face.

I have grown from kernel
To circumference, to be 
His Interpreter of Grace.
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