Delicioius Sleep

Dark holiness rolls into Monday morning on the pointed bow of thunderstorms. Just before rain, rabbits graze on wild violets and frogs nestle in the pit of a mossy stone.

The thing is, I was born when I met you and was sentenced to lap your freeze-and-thaw for as long as I am allowed to abide.

I thought Dan was my first love; the first to make me feel alive; the first to set my world on fire. He laid me down on his brother's waterbed and I thought that was as close as I would get to a bed of straw.

As I grew older, I thought love was safety, security and comfort. It was nights of quiet possession and days of tranquil seas.

Now all bets are off. Love is higher and more down deep than any mantle built and worn by the living. No translation is available. No river crossing safe enough. Nothing is left to do but to float towards the sea.

Blueberry pie at breakfast. French toast, sausage and peaches for dinner. This rain-soaked afternoon is like a woolen cape on my shoulders. There is definitely a point in the day when it is too late for coffee. I am a pupil of what can be done – like climbing apple trees, bruised by branches, to see from the inside out. Oh won't you let me see from inside?

It could be true that we have overlooked the benefit of the poisoned apple. Such a delicious sleep filled with hundreds of kisses. Such a resurrection when love says it is right.