Enter Love

Enter Love.

Seashells everywhere,
comfort is blessed upon the blazing
charcoal sand, then, the monarchs flap
and graze deeply beneath Persephone's hair.

Yes, it is true,
that the welcome can wear itself out
before houses are built,
so that the knowing ground will
break easily free of the shovel's conscience,
while the planner doesn't know
that these square nests are being built
on a floodplain.

A shattered rocking chair
and a perfectly designed pulse rate,
laughter, appreciation, congratulation
and even curious respect,
a sort of looking up to
though not for guidance
or to be that one to receive praise
for the glance, no,
it is to see what lies above the
reverberations of what is said,
what is done,
what is judged and forgotten,
what is forgotten and quickly forgiven
due to a smile from nowhere.

The rain at the tip of the hollow droplet,
begging to get in for a ride;
sometimes hollowness cannot hear the
liquid knocking,
while somewhere else
a jewel,
found by the thick lawn
and lost by the thin hand
is reasoning with the weather
to keep it sparkling a little while longer.

Youth bundled up inside Cupid's
satchel of arrows
and the green landscape reflecting a hue
upon its white feathery speed;
not even Mercury can trip this winged one,
nor Jupiter hide its tiny ease in splitting
galaxies apart for the inner-god sake.

Touch and the time to release,
the barricades felt, yes,
touching impenetrability and surrender,
singing the pillows awake,
kissing the clouds into solid mountains
blooming with wild horses,
wheat meadows and elk.

Doves and the house built for them,
it has been brushed bright blue.
The sonnet that erases itself
as it's spoken for the hundredth time
from lips that only believe
as far as risk will take reality
to risk again.

Rivers,
dissolving solving loving,
then, yes, the music within,
how to trust the curl of the spirits inside,
how to trust the right warmth because it
is the moon who leans and who lends
waves to rise and tidal to drain when
yearning is swallowed,
when it is wrapped around the solitary figure
like wax around a thirsty wick,
how to trust since it is the voice of God
after all, diminishing nothing and accenting
what cannot be placed outside the heart.

Eyes tuned to see what red says
to the raw ruby,
tuned to see what green says
to the grass that's black at night,
tuned to see what the rainbows say
to the mausoleums
and how Love slides between
thunder and lightning strikes,
how it moves the lover's hand down
its semi-smooth face
in awe that age is indeed
touching the clock with
semi-quivering,
stuttering prayer hands.

Then, not only-then,
Love breaks free of expense,
moves the arms to wound around the spark
that's a galaxy parking itself
every which way except parallel,
moves the head to be stillest in the storm of
Kali's hungry skull-necklace,
where dishes shop for their food
while forks, spoons and knives
dance Rumi back to life.

The sunrise in one eye
and the sunset in another,
he and she,
they and those,
we and the were-not,

The heart drums its duty,
the eyes can or can not,
the hands are there of there not,
the lips taste or untaste,
the soul leaps and the soul hugs,

Love weeps blossoms,
Love laughs seeds,
Love burns suns
and Love waters water...

April 18, 2010