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How much I pride this wreath of gold,
now vanquished in my war-torn soul
asunder from that once lost flesh,
receiving veil and fashioned mesh.

Oh God, you’ve heard my numerous rhymes.
my prayers in verse for wedded time.
On that day I’d danced to you.
For all my hopes have now come due.

One dance to him who gave himself,
a him for me, as no one else.
And then to God, I’d strip my gown.
With Holy Spirit then throw down.

Like David when the ark was bought
from foreign holders bravely sought,
a rhythm dance to African beat 
on fresh bare soil with shoeless feet.

You might ask “What crazy fool?
A lovesick woman. Not too cool.”
These words be spoken, if you dare.
To God above my dance is prayer.

3.20.2023


“In truth, my husband and I were persons of “quite different construction, different bent, completely dissimilar views.” But we always remained ourselves, in no way echoing nor currying favor with one another, neither of us trying to meddle with the other’s soul, neither I with his psyche nor he with mine. And in this way my good husband and I, both of us, felt ourselves free in spirit”   Anna Dostoyevsky

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