Coming from Nobel’s land, Pulling a whole thin strand of life behind you, You came up, transfigured in an Indian dress, As if you were a goldfish surfacing!

It was left to me to come up, Trashing and breathless for air, For that pause that was required of me to etch this memory’s tattoo, was so long!

Was it my surprise or an old ache Hidden deep inside of me that was gasping? I don’t know. I don’t know how one begins To pour such beauty into a hollow frame of words.

Or cloth! You did. So this is for you to tell, And for me to listen and scan.

• for Ann 2003:05:18 Atl

Spring moves grandly through these days, a sequence of days all shedding different flowers, First it was huge camellias followed by star magnolias. Now cherry trees seem to have brought with them an inch of pink snow. Why complain of tears then?

And then today breaking sprigs of mauve from Red Buds lining the avenues, I could not but wonder How those black twisted branches held such deep color Or how well they keep their strength hidden and didn’t let Judas down until he swung dead. Why complain of betrayal then?

The earth hurtles towards heat. Someplace now It is descending from the skies, falling as bombs on the ziggurats. Here we moth ball our woolens, switch on the air conditioning and prepare to wait the summer's siege out, after the winter. Why complain of burning then?

O Holy Divine, everywhere do your beauties lie, My soul calls out to you, to you I pray. Heal my heart and ravish this life of mine. O Bearer of all Life, fill me with your grace divine.

O Light of Love, as the sun breaks over the fields, Let your love plough through me to break all shields but you. Only you let me remember and to you let me approach closer. O Lover of both the sinner and the saint let me find only you and finding you, everything else of this world lose.

2003-03-21, Friday.
(On listening to Bach's "Jesu, the Joy of Man Desiring", in the morning sunshine.)