Clanging of Love Letters

November 17, 2008

Gen. 19:26 as Lots wife looked back and became a pillar of salt.

In the same way it is love’s desire and wish that its secret source and its hidden life in the innermost being may remain a secret, that no one inquisitively and brazenly will force his way in disturbingly in order to see that which he cannot see anyway without forfeiting, because of his curiosity, the joy and blessing of it.

Yes. Because I know that once there’s a taste to dine, I’ll dissolve into bits of ash, or my heart will, on dinner plates. The treasure isn’t possession, isn’t locks of hair, isn’t even how to feel one way or another; do you think God anchors blood to hems of skirts? Do you believe in something as encouraging as the weight of another? Prayer-books outline how to avoid cancer. Your better off blinding the heart’s eye, hand over the rest of the gorgeousness, demand that nothing gets through. When your time grows weary of traveling, it won’t be these trinkets of hearts to save you. It won’t be the clanging of love-letters, it won’t be the memory of her voice patterns in passionate sonnets. It won’t be the caution of staying in one place, holding the hand of another for fear of snakes. It will be your daring. Then, when love does call to taste you, the flowers will bend just so, just so beautifully slant, your hands tremor. I hold this above you like a Bible. I hold this as a child. Oh, dear goddess and god, I send you this to say I always loved you. It is true: I hold this above you because my body will rot. I have nothing to offer. Turn away from me and then. And then. Recieve this and grant me the right to sing for you.

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