Monday, July 30, 2018

small poems for small loves, begun

At endings:


But after the final no there comes a yes, 
and upon that yes the future world depends.
But if you think that saying these words,
Knowing there comes the yes,
Living in the light of only positive assent
Will erase the sting of no,
You have been fooled
By no one but yourself
Pain will not be outsmarted or out-wiled
Nor will love.

God surrenders himself to no
upon a cross—
even God feels negation’s sting.
We build up our defenses to be right,
So we will never feel the rejection
Dejection of no.
That’s the tragedy of grace—
we are hurt because of and inspite of us
And others too.

When I said goodbye to you in May,
one week later than ascension,
my heart stopped beating for an hour.
a newly born beauty reached a premature death.
The great hope of resurrection leading to evaporation—
Presence beyond life
falling into a  “no.”
I barely breathed
a contrarian assent,
Helped by your 
gesture towards a yes,
tentative and quiet,
not yet daring to believe such a yes could be—

Resurrection, which I stake my life on,
no realer than mythology,
I stare up at the sky after it.
The sky is bare and blank.

But—
if I believe that
After death comes life,
if I believe that love will triumph over loss,
And “no’s” and the sting of sin,

then maybe one day the clouds will part,

to welcome your return,
and the earth will be holy land again.

Each pound of each heart beat 
is the hope of eschaton: 
I will see you once again.

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