It started out as leisure.
Just a story with a name.
Just a dirty little poem.
With no guilt that wasn’t shame.
Then there was the paintings.
Looked like something maybe art.
Then a thought became a film.
Just no stopping once we start.
Was a murmur from a choir.
And a voice that rattled hymn.
From a note that just got higher.
In a light that knew no dim.
In the moments that were awkward.
I learned to listen and looked to see.
Saw the living and breathed spirits.
You can’t guess which one is free.