Poetic Interlude XXII

Adoration tears at me most wondrously

And often in despair I shake my head, my leg, my hand

As if to make an uncomfortable thing with many eyes depart.

You give me a clear light on a dim day

You push through vines with a knife

You push ahead when I have been knocked down

You work your way into my every affection without discrimination.

I cannot breathe for fear I will be heard – I cannot speak

For fear that you will change the way you listen.

I cannot, I say, and you understand that I am saying more –

Saying that I can, but it wrings out my heart to do it.

I want to grab Solomon’s shoulders, and shake, and make him tell me

What he saw in the way of a man with a maid

Where is the cord that binds?

I would cut it to free myself from desire – from desire’s need.

You will not find good things when I am open.

Not aged wine, not preserved honey, not herbed oil.

One half of me has rotted and the other is obsidian

I am in agony and hope, and feel them both the same

Your love, in being kind, has torn my heart in two.