Into your presence,
I enter, having the look of a burned branch.
I’ve come through a season of forest fires,
and wreak of smolder and ash. I’m charred.
Fingernails black and face smudged, I feel
as though I barely made it. Years of it.
But I’m here, faint of breath, parched,
and despite the trail of smoke
that appears to be following me,
you’ve welcomed me in,
into the springtime green of new life,
into your presence.