Dear God:

Your love has no exits
it is a room without corners
or walls or doors
Trees are growing
the sky is the ceiling

Your love has no rooms
hallways or closets
no shelving or carpets
no hardwood
no plumbing

Your love has no square footage
or acreage
or necessary repairs
no vacuum cleaners or space heaters

Your love will not be televised
Your love will not be televised

Your love is a downpour
a gay guitarist dancing his heart out
across the brightly lit stage

Your love is an evening walk
a potluck
a bring your own

Your love is the mask and the removal
of the mask
Sacred and farcical

Your love is absurd
a pruned apple tree and an earthquake
the aftermath and the runway

Your love laughs at itself
and at me
until finally I can laugh too
if only briefly

Your love won’t rescue me
Your love won’t save me
Your love won’t even walk me home

Your love has to be my love
I have to love myself
Take off my own masks
hold my own hand
wipe my own tears
clean my own toilet
tuck myself in
interpret my own dreams
live my own life
build my own walls
blow open my own traps
hunt and gather, sing and soothe
Be a warrior
fierce, gentle, hot, cold
a circle of seasons without windows
doors or exits or ceilings
a year, a cycle, my old friend that
turning of time

Your love is the turning
Your love is time
Your love is my old friend

Posted in: Uncategorized

3 thoughts on “Dear God:

  1. Renae C says:

    And doesn’t it then stand to reason that we are the embodiment of the divine when we love ourselves to overflowing so that we can splash that love around on those close enough to the wellspring?

    Good stuff Jena!



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