Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Spiritual Silvers, Holy Golds

To hug an ideology! –
to love its big blue Buddha-king
monastically examining the middle distance

as if it were the only thing –
as if it held quite everything
she’d ever need to know.

She climbed it daily, naked, with her living glow,
clinging to its cool availing folds,
hungry for its spiritual silvers, holy golds,

peering – bold – as close as she could get –
into the sacred face whose flesh –
her heart had told her, once –

transmuted from the Word
to bless, undress, caress her.
What more was needed than these two?

Why were they waiting for a third?


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