What is knowledge
if it is not shining down upon her face
Who is to know,
who is to know
To the canvas from which color leaps
she is the gesso, I imagine it so
I imagine it so
What is rapture
if not the doing of her own work in ascension
then creation must be her undoing
of all that is done
of all she has done
and love, oh of love
what is this elusive and lambent specter
if not her dissolving into a mist
over every morning pond
she is the stillness in the calm
the saccharine in the nectar
What then is mystery’s allure
if not her fleeting morning poem
when I wake
dreams are gone
she remains, yet I’m alone
What is beauty in the fabric
but the splendor behind the veiling
She is the light for my reflection
I’m a ripple in her perfection
She is the centerpiece of God’s revealing.
are you real?
only if you are.
This is beautiful – really beautiful. I am at loss for other words.
it’s okay, we lose our words, when we find true meaning…. never lose meaning.