Messenger

Come, traveler,
rest your weary feet,
let down your tired wings.
I have soup in the pot
and the kettle is on for tea.
Hospitality is my duty
and my pleasure; be easy,
for until you are on the road again
I will provide you with all
the comforts of home.
I do not know
what angelic spirits eat,
but you are always welcome
to my earthly repast;
whatever I have is yours,
for all I have comes
from our mutual source of origin.
I know you cannot linger long,
it is your way, the way of your kind
to always be on the move,
shifting from one dimension to the next -
but for now there is a quiet moment
for you to drink in the warmth of my hearth,
for me to drink in the radiance of your countenance.
In the time between your sudden entrance
and what will no doubt be
your startling exit,
I am content to abide,
to be here now.