My Love

My love for you is a coat of arms,
a mission cry, a zazen bell
chiming me out of my monkey mind.
A monastery. A festival
of luminaria and roasted meat,
musky incense and citrus blossoms,
coyote and snowcapped peaks
that disdain the boundaries,
the borders, all the zones
of our short-lived species.

My love is the dome
of the temple where I dwell
and pray simply by breathing,
by saying thanks for our future in advance.

Clichés distance me from that love.
It becomes an equator
wrapped invisibly around the earth,
or an unknown moon orbiting
beyond our reach,
the first and last letters
of a foreign alphabet,
safekeeping the others.

the love where I lose gravity,
am weightless, free,
then fall into your arms
where every cliché finds its authenticity,
where I apologize for nothing.

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7 thoughts on “My Love

  1. Jena Strong says:

    Funny – I wrote this poem ten years ago, but this weekend it poked its head out of the snow.

    Jill – I’ll have to re-read that one! I love his poems.



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