be well


we build ourselves such a limited fate
when a glittering expanse of infinite galaxies
stretches just beyond the rickity gate we place
in the middle of time, become content to wait,
a herd standing still, hoping we will soon be well
whole and unmoved faintly remembering our lost love
with nothing but light, the singular One
who might without a touch bestow
a heart bursting sensual ecstatic kiss
wrapped in the glow of unearthly bliss
were it not for chattering like this

©John Greenleaf-Maple 6/8/17

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