Lost this morning.
Don’t know where to start.
Many, many things I should be doing,
rather than sitting pen in hand.
Except I know that pen writes me back to You.
These scratched pages, this black ink,
writes the map of my heart…
I will follow it back to You.
You who flung the stars in place,
You who drew mountains from the sea,
You who painted the fish,
You who set the orbits, request that my heart revolve around You
So I write.
Follow the map to set myself on course.
I am found.