Baptismal

i sit in the middle of them all.

i can be one with them—

but right now, i am not.

right now, i am another,

poised in inspiration,

wetted with soul whispers

digging soft beneath my skin.

i have cried, i have read, i have seen:

that which they have not.

and in that, i am made anew,

canonized in the moment

while they turn in circles

of dusty past,

un-enlightened.

my walk is that of one baptized in the cleanse,

steps carrying acknowledgement of wonder,

lightened by motifs of clemency and knowing.

i pour coffee into the plastic cup.

the condensation beads inwardly,

i wipe it away.

they do not know,

they have not heard,

they cannot be one with me.