I want to gather myself,
to walk with you,
gathering myself,
but in your arms.
Yet, delivered to this task
now finds me inverted
on blue sky evenings,
when I am killing time.
Of woodlands, give or take,
they replicate and in still moments,
they might shout,
not enough am I in this task.
For I would love to see
and hold the hands that now arrange,
with reverence,
their offerings.
We could share, touch, so much;
even if just,
that by your evenings’ light,
would I arrange myself, sacred gatherings too.