Ognissanti

If any of the saints ushered me in last night, they'd have note my homeless heart. What can they offer me? I'm no believer. My stepping stones are the words I scribble down in my journal. The railings I cling to: the books I can't leave home without. I'm not ready for immersion but the feeling of these damp steps beneath me will become a perennial part of my being.

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