There is a certain disquiet loving you.
There is a certain disquiet loving you,
the peace in disarray: these poems
shatter stillness as does some ship's bow
breaking dark waters.
Froth and glitter cascade down joy, then
heal within the life of one thought,
what consequence remains; diminishing wake.
Yet I remember each passage.
This loving disturbs my peace,
and I let it.
Thoughts exhaust reason.
I am intently careless with desire;
hope abandoned, I court the pulse beneath
stillness, beneath action.
It is a sometimes destructive lust,
redefining passion during free flight.
Pilot by intent, buoyant only by the
grace of faith, and odd moments of momentum.
I thank the current;
I thank stray prayers.
I need let love break through my
flesh and bone, you understand this pain
is not love's plan or doing,
nor any pretense of yours;
grace is upon your lips: each breath.
You are light to my flame.
Dear one, this pain unshackled expresses
simply my reluctance for love to float
free. Dear spirit-filled eyes, regard.
Within this grace of faith, some days
you might see my pain, even hear
whispered questions why, some doubts
flutter past - yes.
But I chose this path and scripture:
Once I was dead; now I live.
I was lost and now am found.
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