Angels of Love

Angels of Love be with me.
In the morning as incantations
of birdsong,
of crawling things
beneath Spring’s last falling petals,
food for Day’s bright Leviathan,
its thousand mouths
closing in joy on this feast of teeming grace.

Angels of Love be with me,
Your wings lifting, falling,
strong in perfect silence,
bearing you laughing into scenes of
invented sadness, anger, ecstasy, boredom,
blindness, perfect sight,
cloaked in robes of the ordinary,
building toy houses of twigs and lichen,
leading us in on fools’ errands
and setting them ablaze.

Angels of Love be with me.
Your voice and your melody,
up from the untended yard,
blackberries amok,
thorns promising sweetness
in August’s hot evenings,
the peril of the harvest,
blood given for blood.
Then the banquet and the cool night,
ocean’s air come again
from across the blue hills.

Angels of Love be with me,
your arms ready
from another season of digging and gathering,
palms callused,
shovels now laid to rest
against ancient fences.

Angels of Love be with me,
even as I breath again this shadow,
this flash of light,
this small moment of weaving.

Published in: on July 11, 2009 at 10:06 pm  Leave a Comment  

What is Folly?

What is folly? The deluded pursuit of ego gratification, yes, but of Love too. “Looking for love in all the wrong places.” But the basic underlying impulse is pure beneath it all. Yes, it gets misdirected into mazes of illusion, ever-branching pathways, schemes upon schemes within schemes. But the one thing is always right there, right here.

Published in: on July 11, 2009 at 9:25 pm  Leave a Comment