I blossom in your Spirit, love,
have never known
just what to call you.
Lord, Lady, hand
right there upon
my with’ring cheek…

I kiss the spot
where orchid shows its bloom
not yet apparent but to me
the stirring of new stamen,
thread of the warp,
love, always love.

My wrinkled hands touch flowers
near to falling, near the end
your smells, your colors, and your touch
and wonder what you want from me,
closer to me than breathing,
nearer than hands and feet.

These feasts and follies
of my sisters, brothers,
so moving deep within
where angels tread
in secret, quiet place
within, within…

where music dwells
and dances, o holy holy one,
o deepest lover tell me now
what do you want
this early Thursday morn
the washing of the feet,

the song of life and death,
and life again, the bloom
of tears as petals
of a beauty glimpsed
but silently within
within – within…

Speak to me, kiss
my fevered brow,
hold me in beauty
whether of line or circle.
I wait, within
Within…