So What Do We Say About Love?

What About Love?

It took me months to finally realize

Your essence was most visible when you are absent,

My mind seeing you more clearly at night than in day,

Remembering your scent, your smile, the way you kiss—

These things that lingered only in memory.

As I now recall, your eyes seemed to have

Their own gravitational pull, still they tug at me even now

When I don’t want to remember quite so vividly—

But I do, especially at night as I always do.

Are you haunted by memory of how tenderly we touched?

If you are not, then I am utterly alone.

Maybe I love you and can’t see you’ve left me.

So I try to avoid the thought that you’re gone—

Which scares me to think I’m now in love with a ghost.

What can I do but sit under the Moon for hours?

Never would I bind you by promise, by obligation—

As though the ring you once wore would remind you

That I gave you my heart…. Do you remember that day,

So far away when we had no need of memory because

You were here, when we touched as we dared get close?

Lewis writes that grief feels much like fear—

It is not fear, but it feels cold and quietly comes

With fluttering in the stomach. Is the same true of love?

Love can bring sharp clarity. But clarity sometimes brings confusion

As the dance brings you close, then spins you further away.

So what do we say about love?

That as we love, we always learn humility.

We love someone enough to respect the wisdom

Of another who gives grace to our life.

And if suffering is part of love, then I am content to suffer.


Meanwhile, the World Awakens

Meanwhile, the World Wakes Up

In the beginning, there was the voice of the Father

Speaking not with words, but music, rising,

Falling as does thunderous beauty,

Parting a small opening in the soul

Where only tears could flow.


Then last night’s gentle rain

Seemed to heal as it brought relief,

Greening to this wondrous world….

Slowly, beyond ability of conscious mind to grasp,

Sleeping as it tends to do through night.


This morning when I woke, there was

Mist upon the lake, floating without limits,

Beyond boundaries imposed by any human,

Touching blinking eyes, the naked skin of body—

Cooling as every thirsty pore was satisfied.


But the marvel had not finished

As Old Buttery Fingers of the Sun reached out,

Parted floating fog— brought clarity

As first the mountain emerged,

Then peaceful lake reflected patient beauty.


This beauty did not thunder, but was gentle—

Quiet morning light told stories long forgotten

Of small island in the lake.

Perhaps the promise of the dream

Had not come true, but there is still time.


Meanwhile, the world awakens—

Chorus of birds disturb the nesting swans—

They spread white wings and swim together,

Paddling furiously so hidden turtles

Will not divide and kill their young.


All I now know is that I am not alone.

There is no need to worry about

What seems yet unprepared by wordless prayer.

I am in love. I could not ask for more

Than time enough to share this love with you.