My Glorious Return ~ Christian Barter


The field is swaying in wet flames

and a wicker chair is sitting out there in them,

waiting for my glorious return


and these chickadees, finches, jays and warblers,

squeaking and rasping and calling out

so matter-of-factly beautifully in the branches


are poised to take me in again,

are talking amongst themselves but when I walk

again into their cloisters will sing out


with all the echoing depth of the converted.


The very thought of that homecoming has put springs

in the prancing cat who saunters down the road

distracting himself, for now, with a search for the critters


tunneling last fall’s leaves in the drain ditches,

taking his time in that purity of movement

of those who are just filling time.  What better way


to wait than in this huge blue morning

which has thrown its doors so wide they’ve come clean off

the hinges and may never close right again?