Jena Was Waiting On The Other Side of The Moon
We do so well to invent
in bits and pieces of what we wish things to be
or how we fear things are or have become.
is not a simple pall of light, but colors darkly
by how we wish or fear the state
of things could be or are.
tramples all such preconceived
states and makes
bewildered by the moons raw pulse, such
over the once-dead bones and rocks
and dust and flame
you utter in the dark skys trumpet of stars
I have made you that I might believe my own life
one humbly assumes breath and believes
nothing but that it is love that sewed sea to surf,
love that wove earth to sky, love that gave light
its receptor to perceive
present in all senses knowing that life is not
preconceived but is undone
in loves simple bloom.