In the Wheat ~ Songs in your Presence


In rooms where candles burn
I remember long dark Saturday afternoons
with taut exercises in prayer,
candelabras, linens and air that moved slowly,
drenching us with incense and desire.


Do You remember the warm evening
You came to sit with me
for ten minutes
just inside the stone wall
of the apple orchard
while the sun was going down
behind the quiet New England woods?


Where is the place where I can stand
in Gothic composure
and be elevated to You
in one long vertical thrust
of breathless blind desire?

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