The Lovers
a devotion of mercy
The Lovers
Lambswool, libations,
maiden’s hair.
Violets in my lap
I clamored there
into the mouth of the cave
stripped of artifice,
breathless, his bare glory.
I will abide his back no longer
and go to him, I will
offer him the mercy
of my mouth, the mercy
of hands,
shattered stars
splintering of dark fruit
petal-soft his hands
pressing, fastened
wounds to wounds,
bleeding to bleeding,
peregrines, the
stones yield as flowers to water.
Lilting ash, lilting
the bearers of ardent,
of fiercer light.
I want to be filled with the fullness of love.
I want to lay him down in my bed.
A new emblem!
Afterword:
This poem was originally a lament. The marrow of heartbreak is love.
I love life. But it’s easy to feel unloved when you’re in constant profound pain.
Severe pain has a way of dominating everything. It shifts inner landscapes.
But sometimes, somehow, it illuminates. It winnows.
There is much chaff that burns away in the crucible of wilderness.
But Love? Love stays. It is love that makes new wine of crushed hearts.
It is the vivifying, animating force that Saint Hildegard describes, viriditas.
The green wind breathing life into all things. The luminous fire.
I don’t necessarily feel it very deeply right now, but I know, somehow, it is there.
“I can see the sun, but even if I cannot see the sun, I know that it exists. And to know that the sun is there - that is living.”
— Fyodor Dostoevsky
Something I have come to believe through my suffering is that the Divine is allied with us. In mercy, in hope, and agony, and everything in between.
While visiting the Divine Mercy Shrine in Stockbridge Massachusetts, I picked up a Sacred Heart devotional booklet.
Sacred Heart imagery has drawn me particularly during this season of my life.
The Feast of the Sacred Heart also happens to fall just a few days after my birthday.
When I read the pamphlet, I wept. I was struck by the idea that we might pray mercy and compassion for God’s heart.
It broke me open. Stone that yields.
I do not have much to offer. But I am a lover.
So I press my bleeding hands to God’s. So I press my lips. So I offer my love.
I surrender to the miraculous mercies and mysteries of all that lies therein.
Dear kindred,
Thank you for being here. It means much more than you know.
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Beautiful 🤍
reading this was beautiful! it made my morning 💖