the doorway

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.

2 thoughts on “the doorway

  1. 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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