Monday, June 13, 2016

How Dull by Christian Gould

How dull.
Fruit without stem,
Branch, or root.

To tell the heart it is full.
To guide it like candle light,
In the night sky.

Although mine shimmers,
With stars, I cannot -
Cannot -  be the only spark.

Reach my heart with the vine,
This is my life, sacred, divine,
Spaces holy in mind,

Rushing river, do not,
Pull me away.
I shall not bite into wrath this day.

The circle is cast.
If love is a ritual, then I,
Am forever gone.

Shimmering fool, too bright ---
Your love is a universe.
It spins on the axis of heel,

Rushing down to the head;
The flakes of alone withering,
In the wind, blown apart.

The kind of love that peers down,
Yet looks up at a mass of untamed,
Blaze, soft yet fierce ---

Love, this is us.
Honed to a spike.
Yet the missing pieces to a whole.

Together. Fruit, the branch, the stem,
The root drinking from the heart.
No detached dullness.

We cling to the element,
Even cold, even scorching.
We find the hidden door, and cross over ---

                                                                     How Dull by Christian Gould

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