Thank you for the versions, the visions,
the voices, fiddles, drums, electric
guitars in my head, and the chanting, the wailing,
translations of ashes and orchids
and terrified cities. Thank you for rinsing me.
Thank you for unmasking me, washing and anointing me,
in cloth-of-love clothing me,
filling my dark church with candles.
Thank you for showing me the strength of the sweet
fire in us. Thank you for the public
temples and private shrines, the amulets,
tokens and icons. Thank you for the books,
posters, websites, unexpected
parcels of grace. Thank you for the encouragement.
Thank you for the path, and the torches along it,
and the rocks and sticks strewn on it.
And thank you for not knowing me, and not
understanding me, and not telling me how.