Sun-spill Son-spell

Sun-spill    Son-spell



By myself, I was deceived,

led by a false enthusiasm

of generosity that fizzled out

when reality made its claim.


            Devotion is rare, even rarer

is the true gift given,

void of expectation

on the receiver.

            Faith is holding emptiness with God,

a fountain that recycles its flow, continuously.

            Jesus is a shock

out of human nature into God’s nature.

Jesus is a higher level of heaven revealed,


but hard to keep the veil open when the world restricts,

presses down with its laws, telling us otherwise.


            I see a house.

we will enter that house.

            In that house,

food and love will be abundant.

            In this house, we will be invited,

where the walls have a pulse,

a warm blood rhythm.

            From this house

we will witness a smiling flock of geese overhead,

crying out a simultaneous song, crying out

with such vitality it usurps then transforms

the dark familiar, absolving our debts

with that song, along with every other bond

embroidered to our skin that made us weep

from their inexorable weight and prophecy.


Copyright © 2021 by Allison Grayhurst



First published in “Raven Cage Zine” March 2021

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You can listen to this poem by clicking the link below:

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