Other Adorations

What I cannot get used to but must - that loneliness. In June then, you. In a dream she settles on her knees in the orchard. The clover sighs, the stars are clear and still. We are slow together and patient, we minister to each other, we who are confused about what what it means not to live by bread alone. When the glistening streams reach her shoulders, I clean them with kisses and other adorations. Was this the sentence for which I was made fit? We only think we choose the altar - in truth there is no altar, there is no choice, and there is no worship. Apples fall in early summer, reminding us how little we know about purpose and utility. There are entries in Thoreau's journal I still have not read but hope to by next winter. There are promises we made before we knew what making them meant. Questions the marriage raised but as yet has failed to answer? At times it seems the table is forced to hold more than just our books and plates, doesn't it? In a dream her name was Justice. There is this unexpected - this unwavering - proximity to peonies now, as if there were actually a God, and that God were actually inviting us to rethink our relationship to ecstasy (the nexus of forgiveness and consent?). In a dream she insists on joy. How few of our prayers require kneeling or words! How the other coming closer makes us holy! How the peonies don't wait on yes or no, just bloom!