Tuesday, August 21, 2018

summer fling

Will you not content yourself with half?
Are you not satisfying by “later”?
Have you never known the fear of surrender?
Why do you ask for my everything,
God of love,
why is it such painful joy to give it you?

Will we sit here, night after night in this chapel,
to bicker out our disagreements,
discovering in our differences some common Word?
I have wasted all my best summer days with you,
and dallied away hot nights lengthening to autumn blue.

But there was a cold wind
as I left your house last night,
Minnesotans shivered in the breeze
which was no spring zephyr,
spelling the end of August on the horizon—
and our love affair?

It is time to leave—
the moon is nearly full,
I am tired of the liminal.

Will you go back to your altar,
Me to my stage,
spend the rest of our lives
staring through the lovely holy ghosts
haunting all the holy Horebs we have made—
sprung up between us like Trinity
decorating our dates and places like
a high solemnity.

Will I avert my eyes when entering the nave,
glaze my gaze when it roves over your sanctuary,
pretend I cannot see your own,
wistful through the cocktail glasses,
and thick beauty in the bar?
will I smile as you approach my lips
our mutual silence the only mention
of the last time we were here we were in love?
Will consecration always call to mind
that summer when I toyed with the heart of the divine?

you called me,
and I answered every call.
For one season, one summer,
I was your heeding Samuel—
will our late-night conversations
go to voicemail?
here am I,
be it done to me as you will.

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