In Lonely Oneness

My Year of Love and Beauty

Now, in solitude, 
I come to you
first out of Desire. 
Why never Worship? 

Only on Sundays, falling
to my knees into the House
chorus of the Rosary, in 
medias res, "The Lord is with Thee, 
Blessed art Thou among Women, 
and Blessed is the Fruit
of Thy womb"

How did I take such Pleasure
mistaking Them
for You mistaking 
what felt Right
for Righteousness?

Instead embedding Them
within Icons
of my own creation, 
mimicking You, 
mistaking
them for the Image.

And profaning Them
in the process. Forgetting
what my Pursuit was 
truly Toward. 

How could I miss the mark
when my Aim had been set 
in an inappropriate 
Place? Mistaking Prayer
for the naming of things, 
for the Care of the Garden.

She is with another now, 
in another Life, with 
birdhouses and babies. 

She is unknown
to me, having shut
the door and locking it.

And yet in my Lenten fire, 
I am All One
with You, 

revealed in Light.
Transfigured, as though
already having re-emerged.