Family in the Future Tense

​The first cold morning of fall in Louisiana
Sends my memory far away to Oklahoma,
To the cavernous den that you added to your house, Uncle Ken.
 
The icy air resting on the rock-strewn hills outside
Bites into the thin skin of mortal flesh, but the hearth inside
Glows with a wood fire, offering its warm benediction.
 
Within this little cosmos, you are all here, my family!
The love that surrounds us is from the Paraclete, surely,
And warms us better than the hearth, no cold malice within.
 
Here, in the awful, joyful stillness of your presence,
Vision becomes prophetic, brought into the future tense,
This precious room a faint foreseeing of our kinhouse in Heaven.