Beautiful You
his was liquid,
less
than whisper
more
than rumour
blue as eyes
refusing to die
You are so full of joy.
his was butter-
rum and whiskey,
no edge
no guile
the smooth pour
of a blind bar-
keep in a dusty
saloon
You have come into your own.
his was languid,
worn edges a
bit
more frayed, a
bit
more tender
the enticingly
droopy
arms
of an oversized
sweater
into which i
always
fall.
Those were
Yesterday
morning
noon
night
when nothing was
certain but
stargazer lilies,
irises, pussy willows,
and lilacs.
but
Today
now
i Know:
if any
if any
if
Any
of those
voices are
Truth,
it is because of
Him
the unfathomable
fact
of Him
and the
Own
into which he walks
with
me
the Own where
Miles are
only
space,
the Own where
Happiness is
only
moot,
the Own where
Love
is spoken
only
in
Code,
secret
hidden
treasured
blind
Invincible.
©s rogers 16 february 2011
