Saturday, November 05, 2016

how scythes slice night

She there did hang in air like a Scythe—
in turning slowly after becoming new, light
spilled red at our horizon, but each night since
from then 'til later —thus higher —thus
whiter and brighter— until
rounded and fully faced She'll be staring
unveiled and wide-eyed reflecting, saying
"i bare so fully with you my naked self,
do see your shine hungering mine"
Then you tear in-half-pulled
from inside backwards &
from frontwards forwards.
Here's always no change: the pull's the same
downwards fallwards. Here's
always —please change— there the
upwards Hard Words
will lure us —lure you, lure me— on towards . . .

naked and bold She there hanging
coyly hiding secrets' other-siding

she is no more hidden in her darkness than when she boldly reflects your glory
thus my tearing turning inward for receiving
her handless touch across the gap and void
pulling with what's from my attraction
to what's there dancing, dancing and waiting
on the other side
awakening inside the gravitational center
all too like love pulling forwards and upwards
with words spoken clear and vowing
so why does it feel like fallwards there I'm falling?

Falling outwards into eyes shining and hiding in
another Person another RIFT in time, I ask you:
Are The Hidden revealed in words
or vows?
Are actions hidden within obscured meanings
or inside gestures of coyly hiding?

Look up.
Each night sky is a book, a real page turner.
When she's a sliver and red then know it's early
dusk or late dawn. Coming, she came;
she comes for You.

Return back, poised with longing—
turn us towards one another so I sees I.
That's how scissors cut: by sliding against each other
back and forth, towards and away, separating one
side from another, the night
from day
one scythe and another

because aren't I also turning, turning towards my Light?
And when I am full
what am I hiding?

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Is this wise?
Is this yours?
Is this love?

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