Where is love kept?

It isn't kept.

They were right to say it lives in the streets and scavenges.

It is an outcast of respectable and high society.

It is the thing that people least know it to be,
that which they most think it is not.
It is that which often it is hoped that it isn't.

Though they want it, they know not what it looks like.

All the advertising hype is a smokescreen.

For today

On the weekends we dream.
We dream we are able to make the world perfect.
Go to the museum and look at pictures
that make prosaic,
bodies and lives torn apart
We believe that we can heal the world,
and ourselves.

We feel wonder at each other and tightly hold
hands, lest the perspective of the room should swallow one or other of us into a lost world.

Apart, there's a lessening of strength but together we easily become children again, bound by a secret.
This little kindling group of warmth, these children accidentally now adults
become farmers ambushed, who must defend themselves with homemade weapons.

They long to hold the sedated polar bear as though it was a toy.

Do they feel pain on the other side of the world? It is such a distance to feel pain from.

We dream of making a perfect place, that would shelter and heal and keep dreams alive.

charterparty

Sages Crossing


Sages always cross great rivers.
Going from one point to another.

Often a river would incidentally be in their path.
They would take shelter in the shade of a tree,


Narrowing, their gaze, in the midday sun, before crossing,
a diamond light highway.


Feeling, here I am.....again meeting a great river; my counterpart.
Nearby children playing, their voices lapping under hot sun....

A mother washing her new baby's head.


White sand.

In prayer. One point, then another then another, then another.
Singular points of awareness, plotted...impressed points.....beacons, and codes

heartbeats of eternity.....charting......setting marks that sing out holy notes to stars...
.........formulae, encoded and indicated nodes......concerto





Marlo