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.)

I gather armloads of spring, the reasons: Azaleas for their closeness to the sound Of your name, luscious crab apples add My measure of blood to the beating of wings, That hidden gesture language of your arms. All of this requires celebration.

See even though I can’t raise my eyes As you speak to me, I have to look away to let My pain rest on the back of a chair or the carpet, Opening that door beyond this imagined door Brings to me your perfume mixed with coffee For that I bring these flowers that also contain you,

Honey’s essence. Such offerings are required to complete this hive, To convince myself that this really is 2003 and outside It’s spring. If the breaking of branches are the stitches Tying together my sequence of disembodied days, then placing Them in the bamboo jar is as if I am adding bits of rock to the cairn where our lives flap like prayer flags in the West wind!