Hasten the Hours

It’s a scene I’ve seen before,

Deja Vu discovered on a path already

tread alone as a single

man with dreams, doubts, and

round-a-bouts to call his own.


It’s a porch suspended between the

pitch of April showers and

a slowing breath, awaited mist

stepping its cool bare feet down

my wooden stairs.


It’s peace, is what it is. And

when you enter our improvised

stage, the tips of your

fingers curled around our screen

door, inching toward our sanctuary,

it’s a dream realized, a present

and a gift.


One thought on “Hasten the Hours

  1. Hi Luke! I like the spiritual weight and truth of “our improvised stage.” It makes me curious about all that it implies.

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