Passing back and forth over dew.
Never without bread and water, never without the key. Insistence as a matter of survival.
How heavily fatigue wears my body! The one who knows, knows, and the one who never knows, also knows (but keeps their knowledge hidden, even from their own self).
Lily fresh grace, blazing desire. Early metaphysical crises at last understood as the only parent one has.
Thank you for last night's notes which are received, read, and rewritten on the heart. In the liminal chapel you opened for it, my soul offers as lauds "I love you."
Pulling back the sheets, doing things we couldn't do even a year ago. I have been up for too many hours, allowing the many minor deities who haunt, hound and harass me to haunt, hound and harass me.
Given pain, grief and chaos, I study your image and lo! Whirring fans, the river a quarter mile away through mist.
The nights are quiet now. Fireflies pass over the horses under stars.
It is as if one recognizes the Lord when they see the Lord in the apostle they honor most. You walk into tall grass along the river and recover the beads you lost lifetimes ago and remember again the freedom inherent in obeisance.
Late chores. Circumstance.
Yet I am with you, utterly, drawing each breath in a Heaven - a complexly mythological Eden - in which there is neither time nor distance, nor even an other, but only Love: this Love.