I walk with her
In the acreage
of neglected dreams
she escorts me to
A realm that sees
the angels sing of time
Gathered in a featherless
touch of Agony
where even Michael weeps

archangel tears of anguish

Such is the nature
of her beauty
Like a satin quill
of starless nights in
A Giverny of lessons I try
to scribe, the whole of
My hope and sacrifice
enstates all,
all to her other-wise –

and even then,
just past the ethos
Of this forest song I sing
I am drawn to
Her eyes of Awe

a frightful and lovely truth
That I am within the pleas
Of her only cost,
the cost of being human
Vulnerable enough
To love as the angels sing.


© K. James Ribble

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