In the dark
that is the light,
beneath Aquarius and his
watery flame
and something close
to healing,
I share the night's appetite
for this raw living,

but I don't leave the
small world
because I love the
wide stillness more,
I leave the world
because I love it too much,

because I accept
the privilege,
the test,
of being here
with my other voice,
still a stranger
waiting patiently outside
my doubt.

The river is content
to be a lost soul, some
scattered lyrics, never complete
and running off with pebbles,
shards of moon and some
instant knowing.

Now that is perfection:
to never be finished
and always becoming,
never used up
and forever new.

We're saints
of a different sort
on chiseled nights like these.

My guess is the
so-called righteous ones
were never completely rabid
with longing for anyone
and never saw Divinity in
the shameless lily or
the forbidden void
where stars are pinned
and only faith
dares to go.

A love I call amazement
joins me like a second moon,
unravished, intact and
just beginning.

No feet are needed
for this journey.
I believe
and I am there.


Patricia Joan Jones