Jane's Fingers

If there is a way for him to see
then he sees you cross yourself
below the melody of the organ
and above the silence of the crypt

I close my eyes and see the December
in your smile
I reach to feel Easter in your
smooth reassuring skin

As you cross the aisle looking over your
shoulder flirting with my flaccid hope
of a truly lived love, and a truly
loved life in the simplicity of a snow
flake in December and the April
daffodils as complex as love allows

He sees you cross yourself and kneel
to receive the death of that which is eternal
he sees you surrender to paradox
while the rest of the world settles
for the safe certainty offered by
certain fictions
and the clarity of some cynical truth
explaining so little yet manageable
like the moon in the utterly confounding sky
so clear, illuminating so little

When you climb a hill or lie on a beach
winging in the valley wind or ebbing
with the metered tides, drawing the sun and
surf toward your own gravity

in the union of prayer and faith
crossing the gulf, he sees you
stretch from wing tip to wing tip
from wrist to wrist, aloft with
a certainty only he can see,
and I can only dream
kneeling beside you, eyes closed
legs still touching the questioned earth

©Bill Gnade 2004/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.