Could it be joy to be achingly myself?
Could I at last see myself
As I really am,
Which is not as I believe myself to be,
In recognition and embrace?
Then could I let myself
Be moved and shaped
Into something I didn’t dare wish for?
Could I simply delight in saying yes
Or in saying no
And not judge between them?
Could what I do flow from me like a river
Or like childsplay in water on a hot day?
Could what I create spring from a secret source,
Hidden with Christ in God,
Where nobody’s opinion, for or against,
Can stem the flow?
Could I work hard and rest long?
Could I dance as I weep?
Tell me, could it be joy?
Could all of it