Close to the Bone

Love always leads to love, my love.

More violets than before; more ways in which death’s doorstep is the bridal chamber.

Lately, which is the same as always, the sonorous whole is in the heart.

Symeon the New Theologian and his hymns, exiled for eros, unified with God as light, speaking to me through the east gate. Enter child.

Are you with me?

I am with you and have always been.

Living close to the bone. Beans and rice for the third day in a row. Turning the soil. Breaking the back. Planting for butterflies and bees. Now, the joy of less.

Misty drizzle announces the forbearance of rain. No separation between the two. The gray of horse-headed gargoyles and cemetery art.

Oatmeal, dark brown sugar, chopped walnuts and matcha tea. The warmth of it slides all the way in.

Beyond prayer, beyond stillness, beyond dispassion –is love.

Sun summoner indeed!