Dearest
Painseeker,
from this porch
watching you
in the field
chin out
searching for a breeze
leaves me torn.
The
coming storm
will wound
both of us.
You
because I know
it will blister
the open arms
you welcome it with.
Me
because I believed
I could have
stopped the storm.
When the
storm passes
I will go to the field
take your battered form
back to the porch.
But
after I
kiss your wounds,
all tears dried
pride restored
will you leave again?
Or will
you stay
and realize
the angel you seek
in a breeze
has been here all along?
Lance Wagner
September 2000
