God, I welcome you
into my humble day.
Please make yourself at home.

Sorry about the clutter –
I forgot you were coming, and then
a thousand projects of inclination
left their mark. The problem with possession
is that things have a way
of getting out of hand.

But please, do come in.

Even my distraction
is a getting ready;
I have closed the door
on which you might knock.

Can I get you something?
A poem maybe, or a prayer?
I know you don’t need it,
but I would fain play
servant of hospitality
to the Lord of hosts.

I’m so glad you’ve come.
I worried, there, the brass of my heart
had been closed off,
but now the kettle is whistling.