You speak to me as sunlight
life-giver, making the leaves glow warm
and tender, their fragile fabric of pulsing chlorophyll,
veins as roots as branches. And when you speak I become greedy.
I am so very hungry for more. Fold me into
the wings of angels, polish me with the love that lifts them high.
Fill me until I splinter into shards of unimaginable light. Parcel
out my soul to the scowling faces of teething infants,
incontinent seniors with their paper thin skin, pregnant mothers
and petrified fathers, adolescents with their angst fueled heartbeats,
the dying swathed in the echoes of laughter, the departed
who surely know better than I.
Submerge me until I breathe you in, saturate me until I become you,
until there is no you or me.
You are the melody maker and the song. You blink
and darkness falls. You smile and grace
melts like butter across this veneer of sorrow.
Spinning orb whose filament is the web that binds us,
for you, we are the atoms sprung from your muse, let loose
to become what we will
until we see
we have no face to reveal to the world, only compassion
for what moves upon it.
You are our deepest thirst and hunger, the path to you
our longest, riddle ridden and darkest night. The stars shine
because you smile upon us, and pepper us with glimpses
of the way back home. To believe in you is to reach up a hand
only to find you there
as close as a shadow or a hum.