First, understand contraction,
the way illness or emotional pain
either pushes you behind your heart
or slices off bits
that wander in your back-brain,
looking for shadowed corners.
Then, understand this—
God has been poking around with
because he heard the echo of your whimper
in some dark hallway.
He’ll come in through your spine,
no, not like a dagger,
but by making you porous again,
rubbing incense and cedar into the air
looking up at you with rock-eyes on the beach,
flashing Stellar Jay blue with a raucous bob and cry.
He’ll sidle up to you with wind-chimes
and mourning doves and decaf Spanish Mocha,
and if you are very lucky,
you will get the whole sense-surround symphony
in one shot, thrown back, burning away the night.
Lovers aren’t always subtle;
they’re just inevitable.
Find the entire poetry collection This Nurturing Awe: Poems Inspired by the 99 Beautiful Names of God at