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cropped-mymeadow.jpg

with gratitude
my soul becomes
remembrance of a name –
the taking in
til I am filled –
a place
of silent
fame

to resurrect
these mysteries –
much more than I can say
a truth denied
the words as yet
shall ring
some other day

. . .

memories
are sewn to me
petals on my sleeve
a song –
a music
sweeter than the night
proof when morning finds me
drifting back
from dreams –
nestled in a sweet
embrace of light

comeagain names
already known
maple
rose
and sparrow –
called to us
reunion of the saints

. . .