She, in Sacred Time

It is a wonder, that as years form landscapes,

Orchestrating winds and rains, sun and moon,

Eroding, shifting, sands, rock-face, or woodland.

Such the wonder, a frightful encompassing hand,

Whittles bones, cracking skin, every day, ever soon,

'Til our emerging ghosts, tempered, reveal their shape,

In fading glory.

It is a mystery, that the one whose eyes hold me dear,

Once a stranger, now the sun I circle in love's gravity, 

Captured I - dry and pocked,  like a waterless moon,

Surrendered. She- tending as a gardener at high noon,

O'er years her charity, in lament, in grace and sagacity, 

For better or for worse, never ceased to hold me near,

Limping t'ward glory.

It is an awe, that many waters cannot quench the love,

Though my back bends to wind, rain, sun and moon,

While my spirit kneels trembling in the fearful presence,

A burning coal purging mouth and mind in holy penance,

She, my sun, lifts my gaze that we both may swoon,

Greying, bending, young again old souls, partaking of,

Bread, wine, glory.

She,

Renita,

Awakens me.

Crepuscule

Our star kissed skyline churns nebulae,
Wisping sweetly o'er this wedding chamber,
As the veil of night is drawn o'er the horizon.
On this tenebrous terrene - deified denizens,
Hymn; even as crescent-king waxes amber,
And St-Elmo's fire -gift of the twins Gemini,
To wanderers.

As Sol's frail flares fade and fail, the horizon's
Blues and yellows -- mauve in darkening hues,
Flora, fauna, rocks, hills -- darken, silhouette,
And the songs of shadows, resonate coquette,
While moonbeams, as milk in coffee, diffuse,
In burrow, and beds, dream daylight's denizens.
In shadowlands.

In deep darkness, stratus tars the diamond sky,
Silhouettes bleed into the obsidian blackness,
A brief hush as the diurnal world changes guard,
Then stridulating cicadas, joined by lobo bards,
This choral cantata to the moon maestro's egress,
From parting veil, howl beau geste, a longing sigh,
Of magic and melancholy.

Dance

In these uncertain times,
Fear festers, like mildew,
Spackling the vibrant skin,
Reds, blues to pallid white,
Decays.

In hope resist this blight,
The dread born of chagrin,
Love, flourish and eschew,
The darkness that confines.
Dream.

As steep ramparts are raised,
And kin and clans estranged,
Disease, death, dogma, divide,
Jingoist moguls macabre music,
Drones.

Each - part hellish, part cherubic,
Human - resist this ebbing tide,
Cleanse the cloth once stained,
Reflect all that need be praised.
Dance.

Still

Now and again, one sinewy sound,
Dodges decibels, fluttering rhythms,
Entangles.
Like a beloved face within a crowd,
Hearkened to - as a cathedral whisper.
A candle,
May pierce the deepening darkness,
A plumb-line to every frightful heart.
Evangel,
In a flicker, in a whisper, in a breath.
Sound, light, water, bread and wine.
Be,
Still.

Threads

There is a fearfulness,  a weighty dread that every eye avows --
These windows where the grotesque and the beautiful congeal,
This conduit into the souls of creatures, from beast to beatific,
Where photons flung from nebulae, perch after having taken wing.
Through science or strange alchemy, this tangle of endless string,
Inweave stories, hopes, despairs, loves, both lovely and morbific,
And reflecting, transformed, from the soul's mirror, now reveals,
A longsuffering longing for the farther in, that none would disavow.

There is a felicity, a lightness in being that every voice confesses--
These unbidden yips, or meows, or giggles, unclouded utterances,
Reverberate throaty, as ancient dormant atoms, drafted now dance,
In cacophonies of herds or flocks, or in choirs terrestrial or angelic.
Through the mundane or in mystery, this fanfare waxes evangelic,
These unscripted joyous worship to graces, offer a slanted glance,
Into the liturgies of love crafted in the dawning and in deliverances,
Unyielding call and response that the real is beautiful and blesses.

There is a fearfulness,
There is a felicity,
There is,
I am that I am.

Four Years

Darling, I remember the glow within my soul,
And how it answered the glow upon your face.
Those awkward messages, sent with no regret,
Too old to be innocent but not too old for grace,
Friendship, love, overtook my wooden walk,
Alive again, I gazed into your beatific face.

How quick the years paper over miracles,
Why do the angels shyly retreat in shades?
Yea- Christ himself in death and resurrection,
In our mundane, in simple sacrament invades.
The dust of the quotidian dulls the revelation,
Yet the sacrament in kiss reborn-cascades.


Darling, I know now that love's roots deepen,
Each sunrise a longing for life within your eyes,
As my human frame, not quite still life, wilts,
My heart and soul-both young and old-in sighs
Of joying and pining. My place with you, home-
Renita Grace. Our lives in love, arise, arise, arise.

Found
With you,
Four Years.

The Alchemy of Being

Where shadows pool, and seep into this place,
As the yearly thaw will raise the river waters,
So dark settles where feet pain to keep apace,
Then soon entombed in the depth of shadow
Where colors fail, there features are effaced,
Penumbra.

Where shadows wane, as river bank erodes,
As the seasons gnaw land, wood and stone,
So light bespeckles dark in lilacs and mauves,
In time, a plethora of hues and forms renewed,
Loom, where love beholds features and faces,
Aurora.

Where shades and light entwine within a soul,
As the seasons repaint the canvas of the world,
So in blues and greens and yellows and reds,
In veils of cloud or branch, the light is pearled,
A lifetime where wisps and shades, each soul,
In a bark of skin, the alchemy of being unfurls,
Salvation.