Love

Yes, the boughs do not let fall
Their bounty for you today.
The garden is lonely and waiting
For you to fret, to run with clenched fists
To seek the silenced breezes of laughter
And you are without solace
Or so you think.
I am here, have always been.
I will lift all burdens with a cup
Of the deepest, sweetest wine
And you will forget all
That ails you
While you rest on that stone yonder
And I sit across you on the greenest grass.

Courage is not what you make of it.
It is not stone nor monument
Nor anything that can shatter.
You know that as I do.
It is eternal, especially when dispersed,
Because that is when it spreads
And regains focus, grows into
Something greater than the sum
Of all souls. Add this:
It is born of me and only me.

The swelling buds and rain
Know this, for faith is their territory.
The robust sycamore stands,
Yea, so does the molave in its proud might.
For I am air and water,
Sunshine and earth,
Darkness coming to the light,
Wholeness in the union
After the conflict
When all have found their strength
And have accepted that I am
Not as they would have me be.

The bending and heaving of the branches,
The defiance of the acacia
Is all part of what which I am,
That which is ever there
To shelter you and nurture you,
Defend you and feed you
When all have absconded
In the face of your every habagat.

Your kisses spangle the rose,
Spar the stars so they shine all the brighter,
Straighten the crumpled manuscript
You forsake in your fear and in your haste.

I let your soul be wrecked
Almost beyond your bearing,
Almost, for that is how you will find me
In this garden,
Where every element is a word
In the poem
That is you.