Spreading as Ink Upon White Linen

 Sitting only in the presence of my guardian angel,
Fingering in my hands the rosary that you gave me—
Blessed by the old pope and five cardinals,
Now dead over forty years ago….
Face of crucifix rubbed smooth,
Each polished bead is pure and light from daily
Praying to release pain
Spreading as ink upon white linen.

High above my head, I see light circle….
Leaves visible on green trees
Reach out into bright sunlight—
The sky from where I sit so far below
Seems a white planet unto itself,
Sitting atop spiraling stairs
Stretching all the way to heaven.

Down here, I sit trapped within well of self,
Close to source of light I cannot reach,
Hear sound of water falling….
Tears dripping one level, then descending,
Falling finally into quarry hole at
Deepest level of my sorrowed soul.

One day my heart may break
If I am not released from yearning for
Love that may never be— waiting
For knock at the door, call,
Letter—anything at all….

Should I surprise myself,
Contemplate dissolution of bonds
Forged in wonder long ago?
Sitting in darkness,
Praying until years of stones
Are smooth as beads within my hands,
I climb the stairs without glancing back.
Can I emerge to wider world of light?

 I feel you waiting for me,
Sense pain now dark within your heart,
Pen within your hand, writing…..
Tomorrow I will brew your favorite tea.
Or would you prefer a glass of wine?
Do you know where to find me?


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