Soft billows of warmth float from patches of bare earth in February. Sadness, always sadness. Carrying wood I think of crocuses. Maple trees remind me to pray and I fall to my knees, looking for the prayer beyond words. Oh you who have held me through this long and difficult life do not loosen now your hold.
One studies the structure of thought, one struggles to find the secret entrance. All plans are merely veils obstructing the face of Christ. Time is alien to what we are in truth. And who is loved so dearly may not yet know it and so learning remains their function. Dusty bibles don't read different than the others.
Snow accommodates fallen pine needles - it is an intimacy beyond words - but one must look closely to see it. Give, don't pay, attention. Love is not offered in pieces, nor fraught with personal conditions. For you language, for me image, and the soft clarity of your voice against which there can be no wall. It is important to always ask what we are truly asking for.
Or so I think, being given to thinking, and not always much else. Reheated coffee, long walks to the river and beyond, a blue jay scrawing in the Dogwood tree. Be not afraid but be not in denial about fear too. It only seems like we are separate now. My lover, my teacher, my friend.
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