Spring makes me sick for love


little disasters

Pane of glass,
Sea foam green-
A sky,
Cracked at the center-
Its spiderwebbing
Edging to infinity.

Thoughts or clouds pass.

Birds or people
Concern themselves 
With the first of the roses,
The wisteria and lavender,
Out in the yard with St Francis,
So cold and holy.

I wrought my heart to be holy-
Brought my mind up for offering,
Its coffers for the emptying.

Spring brings little disasters
Carried on the backs of bumblebees-
Their velvet bodies ushering, ushering
Through shattered glass
Gardens so beautiful
They are unforgiving of imperfection.

I have died twice for perfection-
Once in my childhood,
For God, my old self drawn and quartered.
And now for you,
Somewhere in the periphery.
If only you'd see.




Poetry by halfjack
Read 298 times
Written on 2016-03-31 at 22:44

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