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Posts Tagged ‘love’

 

 

 

Wash,

quarter,

core,

slice,

heat,

wait,

puree,

fill,

boil,

wait,

shelve.

And so

the blush

of Fuji

is preserved

in jars.

So few

sweetnesses

we can save.

All those

blushes.

Some

we can.

 

 

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Day of the Dead

for Babette

 

 

Out the window, a moonless dark.

Sometimes inside, it is moonless, too.

Then we come to realize

how we rely on things

outside of ourselves to see.

 

This morning, sitting in the dark

with my eyes closed, I wondered

about the turning year,

and two words came to me.

More love. More love.

Curious now I did not think to ask how.

The words seemed both mantra and map,

both question and answer,

all-encompassing as the dark.

 

Do you remember that day

we tore out of our clothes

and slipped into the frigid lake

in northern Wisconsin?

How we laughed as we swam

deeper and deeper in.

How dark the water,

how it dripped light from our arms

as we raised them to pull

through the surface.

 

I am again swimming in the dark.

Sometimes I feel the cold

is too much for me.

It helps now to remember

that it’s possible to find laughter

in cold waters. More love. More love.

 

Just yesterday, I was thinking

of the way Jesus turned water to wine.

It is no use to ask how.

The invitation is to accept the miracle,

praise the change and drink.

 

Perhaps in these moonless times,

this is when we learn to make light

out of dark, the way two stones

make a spark. Now, perhaps,

is not the time to ask who we are,

but what we can do.

Now is the time for miracles.

More love. More love.

 

 

 

 

 

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not a genie at all

but a love poem in which

you are what is wished for

 

to read the story behind the poem, visit Cargo Poem

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The night is enormous—

big enough to hold us both

in a way that make us

seem close.

This is why I speak to you

through the stars—

not because I think

that they can hear,

but because I pray

you can.

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This, too, is love, the way the beans

reach for the fence, the way the fence

does not leave the garden. The way

plants long to be touched—how

it keeps them from growing spindly

and weak. How the spider plant

on the shelf drops tiny white petals

into the cups. You could say it’s just

nature doing what nature does.

I prefer to call it love, the sunflowers

nodding their brown faces east every

morning, the lilies of the valley

spreading their generous perfume.

 

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It’s invisible then, the sugar,

after it’s stirred in the jar.

No one would know it is there—

it looks to be only water.

 

But sweet it is, nonetheless,

a secret, a transparent rhyme,

a hidden pleasantness,

a shrine to the unseen.

 

You are my sugar,

the fuel that no one sees,

but I know, as the water knows,

what a gift it is to receive.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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One Soundtrack

 

 

 

writing you a love song

with no measures—

it will take a lifetime to sing

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