Grace absorbs Western sun

beneath her dark fertility

to return with gratitude

when dawn embraces her,

yet again.

 

While Sky God watches us

watching Him

watching within

as she takes his measure

and He hers,

and this evening’s morning revolves

our Eternal Day.

Once more.

 

I asked her

knowing full well she can not,

must not, just not, talk,

what she would want more of

or less of

or is this question backward?

 

I want him more and always

to rediscover him

and therein myself

re-connected

to what he wants is,

must be,

to never need to speak.

The answer to his wish

rises from your Easter,

radiating spectral crown,

to shine together West with East.

 

We seem to die

to fly together.

Forever.

 

We seem to worry

about flying apart.

Less mindfully.

 

Laced Grace arrives too late each winter

and fades away too sad.

Her other Love needs more right now.

Sublime purgation, to recall with hope,

It’s just her time of year.