It Is A Holy Woman And A Temple
It is a holy man, a good poem, and a holy woman;
and a temple and a mosque and a shrine.
Have you not been looking for a companion like that?
For a place of such great refuge,
where time asks nothing of you,
where you can come and go as you please,
where you can control all the rules, because your heart knows best.
And you don’t have to give up
any pleasures that might still be working,
adding color to your cheeks.
There is nothing you touch that you hope won’t fit into a puzzle you are
seriously working on.
I know how the eye works,
what its primary impetus and desire is:
to lay its gaze upon the beautiful,
and for beauty to wink back.
The eye, like every part of you,
is governed by your great
and continual need to feel whole and able.
Able to work and learn and give and play
and love and love and love. Who would deny that?