Eternal beauty
Who will find a way through this silence
to the word to the warm breath
at the centre of this labyrinth of tears
and tribulations ?
Who will count the sparrows with
moving lips or number the budding
flowers on the English rose
as they open to embrace the light ?
There is no destiny other
than that shaped in the words
we act out
in the narratives we carve
from life
Love is an address of the heart
a shifting domicile of tenderness
in which our most precious words
are guarded
a tabernacle of the soul
venerated in our daily gestures
There is one altar
the body upon which
our blood is partnered
skin and bone bound by muscles
that coalesce rhythmically
likewise the passing seasons
that bind us to time
and in which we must learn
to extemporize / to improvise
humbled by the sparrow
by the marigolds that adorn
the fields
Beauty is breath returned
a kiss peppered with passion
a shiver down the spine
a spasm of eternity made flesh
John Lyons