I am weary of the mystery,

My bones ache on the backside

Of the tapestry. 

Behind reflections meaning hides.

Give me the object of the metaphor,

A one way door.

I am trying to piece together

The afternoons of kisses in a hammock,

The lonely tears on the bathroom floor,

The piano and around it happy talk.

I would like to see the stitching,

The picture it creates – the striving and the singing.

A good thing it will be

To see without the knots that tire.

A better thing to know, to see,

The face, the heart of the stitcher

The maker

The lover.

Come and See

Sometimes I am adrift in the ‘already yet not yet’,

For I know what we are to have and to hold

But in this life much goodness has been sold. 

One by one You tear away these things that made my life. 

One by one You take them and twist a sweet knife. 

With each twist You take my face – 

My wet cheeks and dazed eyes – 

And invite me to look at Yours – 

Your eyes that saw all the grief there 

Ever was and ever will be. 

You take my hand in Yours –

Marked and marred with holy scars – 

And sing to me – 

Come and see. 

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