You tiptoed and
I heard.
Crawled stairs that I might listen.
Your voice,
the way that you evoked God,
had conversations
with
the
divine.
From whom
do I get this—
have I learned to go there
facing east in prayer, or
sitting in pews of
blind faith?
I commune because of
you.
I saw you through the cracks/Under the door
did the light show/your voice
echoed like church bells ringing San Miguel skies.
I listened
‘til I slept.
Forgot I’d snuck there
outside your door.
Kissiah Young, MSW 
Exquisite ❤
Deep thanks.
ya better listen up! ❤
🙂
Sometimes silence is the only worthy response to your writing Siah and sometimes it’s the image, in its totality.
Silence pervades and bows before you, as do I.
That is when I best hear: When my listening turns toward the quiet. Thank you, Jalyn.