The Surest of All Loves

 

 

Great World, Great Soul whom I love,

I run into your arms

without perfect words, a mind-full

but never quite perfect words

recited by mortals, save birds.

Where, my love, are your hands?

Your hands that will hold us?

I sit in the rain and the snow,

meditating, finding you there.

Surely you are more clearly seen

by the hoofed ones, and by the creatures

of feather and fur.

They do not spend their lives in worry of grief.

Be at peace, heart of fire.

This human anguish– fall now into the arms

of the dark earth, the surest of all loves.

 

 

 

Photo by Rob Bye on Unsplash

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