The Fruit of Her Hands.

I am from You.

Weatherworn, driven infantryman

the befuddled grunt whom,

first of the watchmen, with wet feet,

stricken,  burdened mostly, and

engaged with conflict

contentious beings;

curled into the soil outside Your cloud’s grace Dan like.

Only You, do the whispers tell of the sweetest everything,

the glory of the heart of Your breast exhales warm rivers into the hours of space;

Into the deltas, fires never quelled, my soul’s cry pours.

What is crafted besides reality?

Some man’s dream, a visage frozen in time?

No! Only One,

You, real sentiment amongst the trembling leaves, the rustle’s Author.

Spent leaves failing before falling, what is more known than today, now, in this moment?

Not the dead spiraling down.

Not the lad’s fancies led unresolved but –

discarding of the peel.

The toil of her hands, mold this one thing.

Reveals fruit.

Generation to generation, waves of worlds blooming

dearly, from sublime moments,

lacking only measurement.

Road worn and narrowing until

only two stones stand, and

Your horizon blankets the matter.

I love You!

But I am among the countless and not too much.

Yet, You, drawer of me, from deepest pools,

from the heart of absolute nothingness.

Depths the monkey descendants cannot fathom for their narcissism like dogs drawn to their own vomit.

Naming, then nursing this lad, set apart

tilled

the sky meets earth and,

kissed against shut eyes, Your modesty impenetrable.

As far as seen You are not exhausted, the depths revealed

moment to moment until

the interior world vanishing, deeper into the bosom’s locket.

Who may seek it?!

Her love is a place to go, an equation to know?

Hagar stood over it and failed.

All points collapse into the wellspring of Your embrace

the sling receding until shot

reaching forever.

Good night somber one, timid love from yesterday.
I hold Your new hand, and I feel in it the earth; missing from her, and gladly lacking, the soft compress of smoothed skin under fear, woven with privilege into stillbirth calm and the kind of betrayals only luxury affords.

Time continues and I am heavy with even greater fears. Please, Du, unlike all the others, do not forget me. Raise us up and let the rejoicing begin again, new, as it always was.