Love in Sacral Time

Eyes open to a day — day upon day,
Open to endless deep midnight,
Warmth seeped from the marrow,
Cold-silent — a  fallen sparrow,
One who has given up the fight,
Ready for the coup-de-grace, I lay.

Life of walking among the tombs,
'Til hearing the calling of my name,
While memories like dreams congeal,
Until again they become quite real,
The call unfolds my crumpled frame,
Strangely moved from the catacombs.

In auroral light — voice on the wind,
A word of hope, a spirit of fondness,
This love evoked across the world;
Hobble as I wholehearted — hurled
Sweetly in the arms of lovingkindness,
Reborn, and now joyfully entwined.

Her heart as clear as wintry crystal,
Her mind as strong as tempered steel,
Her soul as whole as bread and wine,
To eat and drink this love, this sign,
I — a man, learning again to kneel,
Renita is Grace and living is sacral.

Delight,
Delight,
Delight.

Sacrament Truth

There is a sorrow place,
Where flowers daily die,
Ever ground into the peat —
Ever trodden under feet.

There is a grief in this,
Yea mourn the floral hues —
Sallow — as they are lost,
Blossoms fade to dross.

There is the sacrament,
Whence each death is life,
Petals ground as trod upon,
Reborn — a new spring dawn.

There is a joyous place,
Where the breath of God,
Exhales pollen o'er fields,
And soils rejoice in yields,

Of blossoms,
Of beauty,
Of truth.