That Immovable One moves within me.
That Invisible One appears to me.
That One who Created comes to me,
holds me, a feeble creature,
when I wail and want to cease being created.

Behold, the Immortal One, who cares for me!
I, the fragile mortal maker of trivial complaints,
the discontented dreamer of frivolous daydreams,
the blasphemous breaker of blessed covenants.
Yet I, an easily destroyed fleshly one, shall not be destroyed.

For that One who died is also Life,
and Life rests in these mortal tendens,
on this lying tongue,
in this musing mind,
in these clenched, stubborn white-knuckled fists.

Someday I will finish drying myself up.
Then will that fountain of Life spring forth from me.
And I will say “I remember You.”
Maybe then I will not ceaselessly
re-enter this dry spiritual desert.

But, even still,
and despite myself,
both then and now,
He still comes to me
and reveals Himself to me with equal splendor.

//Untitled
//Collette Kristevski, 3/21/2019

For more original poetry and art, follow me on Instagram @paradoxandpaschalia.