A Diary's Page (Jw)

The week ends The mornings of anticipation when I From prayer past through virtual doors Another world without seas or sky Another world where invisible drops pour Upon the garden of my heart, and bring The fragrance of refreshing day, and chase The pain of wait or distance while I cling To electronic thoughts and dream your face. The weekend begins The long hours of lonely separation, and we Apart held twain only by a string of faith That in his presence none can be lonely Only the impatience no grace consecrate For once again I learn loyalty to one I do not see And keep my heart open like a country gate Yawning for every drop of misty flowers and beauty Time shuttles dreams while still I wait. The week starts For me one day too late, for your coming I pine To hear your voice, taste the nectar of your lips Feel the flesh that frame your face, the soft line And swollen comb where sweet the honey drips How softly from shoulder down the moonlight falls Leaving us naked, vulnerable in the bare light Where our breaths are tides. Something sweet enthralls Me, and I cannot push back the day into night The week keeps The cycle of my heart in little chains of hours And I endure each pulse and passing of the stars Find my escape among the falling bloom of lowers And ever moan like tides against the stony bars. I am discontented to think and yet never to be sure About your state of comfort or happiness To dream of joy and languish, but cannot give you more To edge my faith that always you are blessed.