the past beats inside me like a second heart

Some people have a softness that draws water from the earth. Call it dream. Call it flight. The opening & closing of your eyelids, like sparrow wings beckoning the trees. The music of your bones, startling spring from the earth, the dazzle of your smile squeezing honey from the bees. You are kinder than the cruelest thing that’s ever been done to you. You are so good, bad people are ready to break every cruel word over their knee. You are so good, lazy people line up to be the coffee-mug at your mouth.  The religious talk about the second coming & you talk your shadow into starlight. If you asked the clouds for shade the sky would split itself like apple. If you asked me to cut out my heart I would do it with my own knife.

The truth is: Love is an organic thing. It rots and softens.

Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes.

The lilac-scent, the bushes with dark green heart-shaped leaves, Wood-violets, the little delicate pale blossoms called innocence.

                                                      “Clean feelings,                     there are no clean feelings.”

How should I pray if I don't believe?