You Infuse

You Infuse

(“Anyone who says, ‘I live in intimacy with Him,’ should walk the path Jesus walked.” 1 John 2:6)

Only You know the reservations,
the slow procrastination that paints me
static. I do not care about the dimensions (2D or
3D with glasses), I am sad about the stagnation.

Only You know I am like a painting at a museum.
A father takes his son to see “The Blue Boy” on the wall,
and the son takes his own son to see the same. I am the same,
unchanged. Beautiful in silky grey; warm in the background green,
I am mounted and unmoved.

You are a Master Artist, not a painter. I am
a new creation, not a painting. A father and a son
visit me apart and are not ashamed that I am unchanged.

Only You infuse my taciturn crawl with fragrant oil,
the perfume all nature wears unaware. In silence sometimes
I find
the tears I cried over misshapen mimicry are part
of the elixir, the tonic of Your love.

Being, I move. Trying, I lose every scented molecule
of Your affection. I have stocked an entire pantry with
colognes and sprays to disguise misguided efforts
to hammer my own painting tightly to the wall.

I would never lose the fragrance if I merely moved in
closer to
only You.