The outsider

After Isaiah 56:6-8

I sit outside the circle,

the wall, no way

to make my way

inside, a cold place,

empty and stark,

cold.

And yet my service,

my heart, are sought, a call

insistent and growing louder,

until even I understand

and I walk to the holy hill,

the temple doors open, and

my offerings, my self, are

accepted. The voices rise

in this house of exile,

this house of nations.

Photograph by Priscilla Du Preez via Unsplash. Used with permission.