I heard it was possible, without returning to the womb,
to be reborn into freedom.
But I didn’t realize freedom is a journey of admitting,
a journey of saying aloud what has only been whispered,
an inner soaring, as if from a hot air balloon,
a wafting confession sending you over Eiffel Tower walls,
a swirling of hope higher than Mont Martre peaks,
a humble dipping down past language,
a sustained listening within stained-glass landscapes,
a gratitude for small things like honey gathered by directed bees,
a saying no to distracting taskmasters,
a saying yes to The Holy Invitation.
You know what I am intimating.
I know you do.
Admitting it won’t break your heart,
but it may break the waters newly stirred
by God’s reclaiming song.