This is just a bit of spontaneous celebration for the many, many lovely and loving people in my town who are now free to marry their lovers forever.
Why did they not have this always? We know the answer; it is painful to contemplate.
This, our new/old harbor, is very tender. This post is for all of you, whether we know each other or not. If you are here to find a safe and loving home–you are probably already my friend.
I am as spiritual as I know how to be, but I live here on a practical basis. Please do not ever think the two can be separated. Love is love. Spirit is love. God is love. The people who live in my town, more than any place I have ever been, live by the code of love.
You, who live by love and believe in love, are more than welcome to be here.
1 July 2015
The Sea Loves You
We are almost always likely—more than even ghosts in white—
to walk abroad long after darkness seals our dreams in after-sight,
then shows them back as we both lie awake, just staring, sky before,
and little clouds of sad wet pain behind. Behind our eyes, we bore
the burden of a hurtful trail, a line from there, where we come from,
toward the bad new magic that just hates us so, we might succumb—
if that is granted, god to flesh, but now, by god, it’s worn off well.
No one gets to die and be a victim of the nether hell
that’s never held a single inch—by cross or square—that’s angled through
like crying voices, doves’ or ours, that rise toward the coming view
that lights the living casements of the bedroom where we meet and pray.
I will watch these windows day and night, and yet—I’ve heard the way
the tides will turn their softest selves to help the far strange wave come in.
Someone’s riding there, upon its back, or in its wake, a-spin;
there’s a good wild rider who just wants to come ashore and sing;
there’s a mad wild look in eyes that cannot wait to cease to bring
the hurtful currents that once drove them mad toward this mild good beach.
I shall lie alone all night again, but not sway out of reach;
only let your voice and eyes meet mine, and love will grant us grace
to lie beside the turning tide on beaches where we know your face,
and shine it forth from mirrors as the pools you stare well into form.
Only love is deep enough to know its waves will outlast storm.
Gather in your own two hands the tear-salt water love stares through.
You were never going to die. You love the sea; the sea loves you.