The Laodicean rap, painted, preached, and by every art portrayed,
was heard by ears noisily distracted.
Senses misdirected, yet my subconscious sacramentally detected,
an angel's pulse that urgent beat,
a tell-tale tick and tale-tell tock--
the stranger's friendly, disturbing knock.
Welcomed for the evening's delivered meal,
a guest of boxed Asian cuisine and carbonated vice,
and I, too.
Though we sat together in the low wattage shadows,
though the table otherwise was bare,
He, uninvited, stayed my company received.
Then, as words passed between us after the meal,
when more I wished visitors left than stayed,
my time occupying and comfort spots crowding,
He showed Himself present,
and the surprise that met me,
was a punch line I'd never heard delivered,
a trick I knew no one could perform: te absolvo.
The man who stopped to beat at my unremarkable door,
to seek entry to an empty house though filled,
was just the same as took me to His,
the man who came down to be taken in was He who came in to take me up.
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