I am blond and he is handsome May the kingdom of heaven be our gift; Before he hailed me, my heart was broken and loved by the Prince who died on the cross for me;
Inside this White cloister and under this patient space of ivory arches where my novitiate’s hours are spent here is where I weave my happiness I say my prayers without sorrow
Under this closed sky of early winter. I sleep a sleep that is attentive only to God. Inside this alabaster cloister I am a peace-filled and hopeless nun traveling with God by desire, waiting for angels to draw another chaste evening
I am blond and he is handsome I dream of his whispers, greedy and hear his soft humming against my flesh Blue, dark, transparent, I am caught inside the depths of greedy whispers, and soon someday he will be beside me, over me, inside me his longing has no end, his mouth speaks lover’s words, he has no time for prayers or begging;
He will open a scar in me, a stigmata I will be filled and full of miracles blasting through the sharded skies of his love, falling into the living water of his kiss, I cry out for caresses that satisfy every longing and blinding joy
Forgetting that time ends in all things, and even new beginnings become stagnant, she wished to see for the first time the oceans inside his eyes stop for a moment in her waters..
there are virgins who must always be near their god, and who when crossing each of his thresholds, make a wish instead of penance;
as love can come full season, she lights candles to keep dead watch over her wandering god and overcome with emotion, she throws open the door peering out to the distance, a new god coming in on tonight’s storm she guesses and hopes, lifting up her arms, palms open to catch the sunset songbird singing over every wound on this earth.
Deliverance is music and splendor We go beyond the chaos We open up to other innocences
Our desires live inside inaccesible gardens where the trees have no root, where the plants sing of freedom and infinity fringes the latticed flowers on the gate, open to all pollen, bittersweet with the flavors of distant fruits
we’ve circled one another for so long hesitant, reticent, waiting for all defenses to fall, the hunger in us grows through tomorrow like a vine strangling fear; we are for each other no strangers to ritual; our candles and memories are omens, our longing becoming prayer…
we barely speak this language of love; that improbable existence of luminous joy is not for him, the philosopher, nor for me, his poet, we offer to others what we deny ourselves while dreaming for too long, defenses one by one burning from the center of Self reaching for the horizon, our hearts embracing before the suffering Light, our hearts bathed and washed in waters of love’s benediction; placed along shores where the fires ravage our fierce dreams, inaugerating that which is not yet in us
Groping, you chose me to be the statue of all allegory, just by the habit of immersing myself in your sea at the end of the world; I lose my head beneath your bare stare and with each step I become glass to be ground
By chance were I not your favorite lover, the one who advances sans hesitation to nestle inside the hatch of your hand just as it snaps shut, were I not your favorite lover who bites to sip the venom from your wounded heart would your palm open?
Oh tie me down so that I do not go away every time I hear your thieves song, singing at the expense of day, I confuse sand and snow, wolves and shadows, your hand on my shoulder, and it’s too late to turn back to set my hours by the sun, now you have marked me with your secret alphabet, and now I belong to the tribe of those who dwell inside the radiant darkness of those who look their best with eyes closed, lying alongside the edges of all abyss, languid to watch ravens fly away, never to return before the Dove of the oblivious moon
As a Light that always goes In front, if I take you by the hand, will everything be suddenly simpler? The people, nicer, their wordy evils turned to hardened lava under their tongues, yes, as everything is done by the hand.. take my hand under this lamplight of love,
as from the black clouds, rubies and gems pour out , as from my eyes your bottomless sorrows fall into me; without your face before me, as beneath each darkness of my eyelashes, gardens bloom from blood rains pouring down around my booted soul,
my love, what does a bubble in the ocean know about the sea? what does a handful of sand know about the desert? Books are destroyed, statues pulled down, banned poems break like glass ..what would even a child learn from all of this desolation?
I just want to be as a child for you, as a Light that always goes in front, I will take you by the hand until we are both transparently, light as light as places that have no names in being, as essence as far from evil just so you can stop and wait for me.
I belong to the tribe of those who dwell in radiant darklight dawn, Nights and days with eyes open under the unbearable blinking of the sun, watching for signals in the sky,
The shadows of a dozen dazzling eclipses on the face of time, the whitelit thunderings from God raging against a painted planet’s eyelashes
I’m on fire, I am reduced to ashes The blooded bird takes her flight disappearing inside a skylit ring worn on the hand that paints the soft grains in between light and darkness: I live inside the eyes of a world the eyes of a world where a man takes no prisoners when he dreams.
My heart was tired of finding no one, My eyes were tired of being disappointed.
One night, I wandered, thoughtful and dreaming through sleeping plains; in the distance, snowfalling on red horizons before the growing dawn,
In the shadows, I was slowly stripping away memories of my loves, and when I was done, I looked behind at what remained when suddenly, I saw Him, calmly and serenely walking slowly, weariness enveloping Him
I saw Him.. He came to me.. reaching out His arms, hugging me; His eyes closed as if to see further than reality, He spoke to beg me “Let me see your blue eyes in the night”
Silver stars rose from the earth … They say there are skies under which no man can live, but I never saw them when He smiled, He loved the azure of my eyes, and nothing in the world was ever more intense than this.
Dead wings, dead wings, to fall is to be reborn out of bright solitude and dropped into the sea The memory of the earth is a weight of waves and islands; in my blood and in my bones, the weight of my incarnations is stronger than my will to be unique, it breaks me, destroys me reminding me always of my place.
I am the mother of lost souls and prisoner to my faults, my beauty and to my will; transparently walled, my cells of life delivered by innocent death spoiled by joy before the open grave of the earth, the sea and the air and so docile, docile like a stone, an angel or a even a star; to fall is to be reborn drawn into the deepest of deaths into birth and to life, it is all the same sleep, a unique grace which bends the paths of heaven to the curve of the earth; Even my highest desire is subservient to the peace of love which governs storms, wars and the birth of wings
Since we are already on our way …traipsing to the shadowlands marching to the rising flames, our feet crumbling the gravel;
Since we have set off to fight, our hearts coaxing The Light to fill our baskets full of words carrying the nudity of our souls; awakening just before daybreak’s sweet blue hour, we write our testaments, storing them with greatest care, these are memories not of accomplishment but of our broken promises, our wounded hearts
In my vision, I saw Nature again, my Lord I saw Nature at her beginning singing her song opening up my ears with the sounds of branches, waters, breezes and bees And Life everywhere springing from this brown and green, lush and harsh earth
Nature, I know her eternal trap: Strong by beauty, humble by silence, She waits for us to start again and again in our immense obeying to Your universal goal.
Your indiscernible Love makes a furtive call “I am Here” and suddenly I’m rounded by the swarming scent of sweet boxwood and . everything swells and cracks with a slight noise, Resin in the sun; The wind, at the top of the trees, All Nature is of Himself, You, the God, myself the slight Bride to Your Light, Your hands steady on my shoulders, this healthy and chaste passion, My body and soul, a nest to carry the living Among this whirlwind of seeds and swarms, Nature need not allow charnel, straying evil Yet You, great King, add the mixture of acrid acid lustings among the spring leaven; the desire for a more divine love than human delusion can repair