the doorway
when my breath
catches, overcome
by tiny bird prints
in fresh snow,
the marvel of an early
crocus blossom
or barn owl in flight—
this awe is a portal,
a tender merging point
I stay still
drink in the gift
let it fill
me to spillover
eternity marks me
in a way I can share—
not the story
but the overflow of grace,
the boon of mystery
2023 ©Amrita Skye Blaine
I’m writing a poem a day. These are drafts—not final versions.
the heart of the matter 
Love all of this—the gifts that “fill/me to spillover” and especially those last two lovely landing lines… “the overflow of grace, / the boon of mystery”.
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Your encouragement is so appreciated. Thank you, Jan.
Love,
Amrita
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