On The Feast of the Protection of the Theotokos

My head I raise, my soul I raise
from dreams of silent, purple pine
put down my feet on this cold world
and laugh and say, “My Love is mine.”

My Love is mine in autumn hours
when scarlet befriends eternity
My Love will be the hall of mirrors
where Beauty consents at last to me
My Love has been the stalwart house
lit up with gifts, to which I fled
when gray corruption seized and gave
my childhood to the pursuing dead.

Inside are prayers in small brown bags
and lamps of sacred memory
the faces on the walls are kind –
my new more ancient family.
Around the windows a palace stands
that I will never full explore
bewilderment like galaxies –
but My Love calls me at the door.


In secret minutes we made ascent
between our tedium, accounts and tears,
we came together to The Mount
but I went cloaked in pallorous fears.

The altar of God, I knew of old,
stands watched by towering cherubim,
licked by fearsome flames of gold
that once burned the love I gave to him.

I cannot bear the cherub’s joy,
but higher than he leans a milder height:
her invisible veil enwraps the world
and gives me one single, humble sight –

The altar of the One True God
dressed in the festal flowers she brings
and seas of sacrificial saints
who found in the altar the joy of things.

I approach and find there my newer love
laughing and dancing within the pyre.
With our God and his mother we share the meal,
My Love and I, and our brave desire.

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