Beams of Wood and Light

Now I know.
I fall in love with eternity, minus all bodies.
Call your priest because this is a spiritual situation.

Hiding behind metaphor.
Hence this falling without landing.
The truth is, perhaps breaking the rules makes the most sense.
I'm trying to be more clear but this way of being is a hard habit to break.
So now I must ask, who is hollering home?

At 3 a.m. I rake the sheets with insomnia.
Rise – read – write – repeat.
For a moment I dreamt I fell asleep in a winter barn, lofted with abandoned nests and held strong by beams of light and wood.

Wicker baskets of zucchini and squash.
Tomatoes cradled like Christ in the length of my shirt.
Watering both before daylight and as it departs.
Soon we will be blinded by blizzards and truth.

The gorgeous symmetry of heartbreak does not escape me.
It's about time to kick the ladder away from the aging muscle keeping it all alive.
My faith and trust lives, but my hope of understanding flies towards those purple mountains her breast always longed for.
Lost in poems is not the worst fate to befall a woman in a man's world.

Lost in you, is another story altogether.