Early Morning at Camp Greystone
the rain is spilling out over this tin roof
and we are underneath blankets and
wooden beams that stretch wide and low
you walk across ancient floors to start that fire
we've been waiting for
and when I see you -
hound by your side as you crinkle paper,
I know that you don't keep anything from me.
the flame rises with pockets of blue -
crackles and smooths out,
leaping to life with the echo of thunder.
the light grows with the watercolor egg sky,
and we remember just how many secrets of God
lay bare beyond this submarine window.