In this blessed space,

the narrow brick-paved lane

behind First Congregational,

I walk with you.

In this blessed space,

a table for two at the Cool Blues Café,

I sit with you, and we laugh.

In this blessed space,

where squirrels scamper

under a blossom-birthing sun

toward leaves of preternatural green,

I sing to you in my old ham voice

that cracks on the high notes.

In this blessed space,

where saints and angels repair

the havoc of demagogues

by keeping holy silence,

I pray with you, I pray for you,

the waters of gratitude

bulging above the heart-brim.

In this blessed space,

a room of light and art

and books and music,

you are the host,

I am the guest.