05/08/2026
Unlock, Open
I sigh my Sunday sigh a time or two,
maybe more. I’ve given up counting
how many longings I possess and how
many arrive, prodigal, on Sunday.
I never refuse the knock on my heart’s
door, the smile that asks, “Remember me?”
I step aside, leave the door unlocked.
The cornucopia of memories starts
to pour. I never say the word, “Enough.”
I feel my eyes turning outside
from some landmark I can’t forget,
hold as if yesterday may be tomorrow.
They leave as they’ve come – quietly,
my sighs form a hymn, not unlike
The Old Rugged Cross. . . the love,
the betrayal, the agony, the certainty
of return. Me opening the door next Sunday.
- Byron Hoot
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