Charity

I.

The longing to be found
secure in being,
in a melting pot of nations
like colored shapes in
a glassblower’s shop.

My small hands are lithe and brown,
the milk of goats bathes my skin,
and oils of lavender and anise
anoint my head, sweet perfume.

I was born into the world
for such a time as this.

II.

My hair falls to the floor
in its shining glory,
and youth, my crown
that echoes time’s vast grace:
the virtual hallway
of immortality
in which sit princes and kings,
queens and mortals,
reigning in all their
unnatural pow’r.

Their brocade of silk and jewel,
the forte of chance and innocence,
the crescendo of love
and diminuendo of chastity,
the moments of law and injustice.

III.

We seek to give
and it is given unto us;
the beauty of light dispersed
into darkness
is the drama of good and evil.

We share with others,
and they return the years
a hundredfold.

IV.

My horse is but a colt,
young and lively;
he is so sweet,
a temperament
with no harm.

Eyes of starry blue
beneath the shining rust coat,
and we wander in the hills
with a loaf of coarse bread
and water.

V.

We canter in the fields,
we taste the last light,
the ministry of dusk to dark,
sheep, kindling the fire
for warmth.

A shepherdess at day’s end,
tending to the flock,
turning danger far,
and listening to
the murmuring air.

VI.

The sun is blighted, red,
the moon has turned to night,
and stars fall from the sky;
meteors puncture the earth
in kind metaphor.

Where kings and princes
run in terror beneath the portals
from the poison of blasphemy;
in fear, we hide
beneath the rubble—
we camp in the open field.

VII.

The banquet, set for the elite,
aspires to silk and candlelight;
bone china, laden with pheasant
carrots, beets, and brandy.

Potato soup, Devonshire cream,
mutton, ham, tortes, and gravy;
spinach salad, French beans,
white wine, and rolls with butter.

VIII.

You take me by the hand
to dance across the ballroom floor
in unison with evening’s jeweled fire,
and the archaic dignity of the waltz
still graces your shoes.

In top form, with a radiant young bride,
a wife of chastised youth and martyred front,
in the moment of love and veiled purity,
with the setting of the sun,
she rises, a moon.