Winterain

Love lays flat upon my finger
Burned upon my flesh with dark color...
In this place
           In this time
                      Stark terror becomes sublime.
            A serpent singeing pain:
again the needle is poised, ready to strike.
I think I know why they might call it a ring,
it rings out singing to faith and doubt alike.

I have thrown my heart on the tracks
In the path of the oncoming train of your affection.
Tempt me brush me touch me crush me
with slight soft fingers or steel wheels.
I am bound to the path bound to the tracks
Bound to you in a wish as strong as winter's will.

Now when clouds darken a silver sky, cracks
Between clouds of gray are lined with a shine of hope.
Maybe rain will fall soft and slow as we march
in yellow boots toward a shining spring of green and blue
in a field before the cathedral and the arch
Filled with wind and flowers and endless hours
Spent with two who love: me and you...
We enter through
           the transept, swept away with the breath of God
                       onward
           on toward a long summer day instead...
God has given us this time and this place
The scent of white roses mixes with the smell of bread:
God the Mother feeds us, clothes us with clover,
           Shelters us with the stars of distant planets, far suns.
Come running through the meadow, an argent angel
            The White God bleeds sparkling snow and is done.
God the Father kisses our eyes blessing our sight
            With a dream (we are stirred with the gift of His Son.)
Through a glass darkly we see heaven, a blurry vision.

Almost too late we find the glass is a mirror
Dark not with filth or stain
            But with our own grief, a wilting pain, and terror.
Only now can we make it clean
            With the elements of winter and rain
And a hundred happy angels felt but never seen.

The greatest fallen angel has no one to blame;
He is a sidewalk stalker with no name
Pulling a black coat close against wind and cold.
Winter and rain have merged, have become
                      one
                      A delicate downpour.
              He trades anonymity for fame.
Filled with youth, yearning and a yielding
                      We have come undone.
Only time will tell what the mirror shows
When it is washed by tears of rain and snow.
Only time will tell when our well is filled.
'my cup runneth over' our joy is spilled,
            an intimate drowning of us
                       and more...

3.20.2006