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Behind Walls of Data

In the Last Green Hours

Crucible of Light

Dogs (A micropoem)

The Angels of Hawksbill Mountain

Beyond the Gates of Orion

Sanctuary Within

The Sacred Opulence of Abundant Joy

Sitting With Stars

Light of the Tempest

Nucleus

Follow the Birdsong

Celestial Rite

One More Moon Beside Me

Legacy of Ash

Born in a Field of Light

Resurrection in Albemarle County

Dialogue With Silence

Moving Past the Dream

Deadly and Merciful Blue

Sky Full of Legends

On the Border of Earth and Being

Who You Really Are

Council of Stars

Scattered As One

Unfinished Bridge To the Infinite

Scenes from Within

Moon of Secrets

Memories of the Kingdom

In the Church of Ordinary Miracles

Finding Religion in Sperryville

Theater of Shadow and Light

Sapphire Birth

Web of Infinity

Voices from a Choir of Stars

Traveler in the Unseen

Into the Silence

A Soft Ascent

Through a Sacred Forest

Innocent Questions

On the Bridge After a Storm

The Sound of Creation

Your Song in the Ivy

Universe Within

New Empire

Another Afterlife

Where the Wind Lives

Another Kind of Prayer

Indigo Fire

Last Inch of Flame

Blue Home

Sacred Crone

What the Deer Understands

Some Water Lilies I Used to Know

Gates of Orion

Requiem for Yesterday

In a Moment of Understanding

April Snow

Symphony in Sable

Justice Denied

Gossip

Graduation Day

Fire from a Distant Life

Frozen Retreat

Welcome Jack

Remembering Spring

A River's Chant

Shadows of December

Please Live

Unholy Love

A Silent Knowing

Morning Candle

A Multitude of One

Love is Now

Follow the Birdsong 2

Archibald

Night of the Broken Glass, Revisited

Someone Else's Paradise

Canvas of Gold (A Tribute to Poetry Sites)

On the Edge of a Dead World

A Very Late Apology

It Is You

When Two Hearts beat as One

THE WOLD LIKE THIS!

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

His Love will Sustain Us

 

Innocent Questions



Nothing is ordinary when the
mountain laurels are
in bloom, when they are
white landscapes, intricate
as ancient porcelain,
and the sky has finally
opened up and
let down platinum ribbons
and reasons to believe,
and it's all trickling through
the poplars, the honeysuckle,
the luscious mossó

this is no time for
a spectacle of memories.

"Where's Mom?" my grandson asked.

His world was plastic dinosaurs and juice boxes
when I had to explain what death is:
a new life, a better place, yes, a lovely place . . .

"Can I go there,
and be with her?"

When you're an earthbound tourist, just a
few years from that Heaven where only softness
is born, there's no such thing as cancer or
mysteries with bits of crumbling answers.

"So when's she coming back?"

I always thought joy was the only thing
that could happen when God showed up,
but then, how could all that light
crack open the granite shell of pain
that seals the earth
without voices on this side?

"I'm mad at her . . .
didn't she love me?"

Two wings,
the color of
merciful fire
slow down to love
the strange blossoms,
with a type of
love only
free spirits
understand.

"She loved you so much" I recall saying,
"that she tried very hard to stay."

My words fell around him
like snow,
and his eyes were filled with trust.


Patricia Joan Jones





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