Epiphany and the Heart

I am in Target, trying to find those 

small travel-size kits of shampoo and soap,

drifting away from the task at hand,

thinking about Pascal burning 

at midnight in his room, his eyes 

ablaze with God, stitching his epiphany 

next to his heart. 

We are not at one with this world. We lay

foundations for homes we will not 

inhabit. Tea cools untouched. 

Books lie open to chapters we will

not finish. Under the gray sky

we are restless, weary, 

walking without vision, 

with shortness of breath.

If we think God is up there,

we are lonely always. If the strong man

could know when the thief would 

break in, he would 

bar all doors and windows. 

The door is unlatched, Silent One,

Mysterium Tremendum. Enter at

will; set ablaze this heart.