The Last Sacrament

Sometimes it is a tree one remembers most about a place.

acacia
on the lip of the Great Rift
god as thorns

Sometimes it is broken voices of those we have internalized which remind us that all choices carry responsibilities and consequences.

clover
splitting open for urgent bees
I am not enough

Sometimes we forget when viewed from far away, arcing rainbows are actually complete circles.

broken glass
1,000 guillotines calling –
light begins the end

And sometimes it is easy to get stuck in the doorway, resting too long on threshold as support.

to split kindling
insistent pain as catalyst
equanimity

*

Now I know: no man is worthy. It will always be my choice who to gift what only I can give. No esoteric jargon. No wordy distractions. Soul as journey rests on what can be known only without what can be said. It was never peace I was after. It was harmony. Therefore, I can speak lovingly on a landscape of pain. I can be sent stripped naked into the wilderness to be feasted on by the elements and beasts because I have accepted the last sacrament.

cheerful birds
rising from daylight, throat and bone
unspoken mercy