sound will gather waves
soothing mine and your
withered years two life. If this
were love, songs might
answer mouth's plosive
sighs, embracing weakened footfalls.
If this were a love song
you were I and we are
severed by ourselves, heart-sung hearth
our bellwethers' rung
in softer, Kinder, watering
ways, like waiting, our seeds, we'd planned.
If this were a love, your
words would not sift like
gilt gold leaf wrinkling acorns' staying
inside, our decorum primate
as seasons will do, so much
for findings fallen from acorns grown out one
season, autumn, yellows to golden
light a sky, wall a forest, weave
an entrance through the woods grown tall
for walking. We'd hum, if this were,
a love song made by years
learning as written, our vows two
gather us One, sung, should this be
love, our song. And if it is war? How could it
not be war when forging sounds from diverse ray,
son's wisdom, walling, no wail escape his lips,
come union brake, though love fell
down, in part. If this were our love,
how could we sing? Where would we see
the line drawn for us so many times "in sand"
"in pretense" "in liberating Scripture's cross?"
Our love song we have, if this were a love
surrounding our devastation and our being
led through halls without an echo of our lives
harmonizing during years, walking sideways,
now balancing crows its calculus down our open
souls, and Christ, the Covenanting Peace, sings "Welcome,
Lovers, your souls, your excessive, late days are
love songs given from Me. Your love is heard in heaven's
hearth, and two are one, you two are one loving, born,
bared, saved, for My Name loves you one, and one,
and knows you each accepted, calling the Love
song doubtless, sung before and through and with your If."
Posted by nancy at February 16, 2014 01:11 PM