"Lovers don't finally meet somewhere.
They're in each other all along."
~Rumi
We must have been born under a
brighter moon, a cracked skull of
power, plunging and
emerging;
A Madonna of mist who
granted perfect joy to only those
who knew Her name.
We must have been sanctified
by a greater god,
passing this way one
Champagne afternoon,
when He saw two kindred
spirits planting a new Eden,
and was pleased.
Or perhaps faith won at last:
if you can believe a love that lasts
a day,
you can believe a love that
lasts forever.
I guess we'll never know
what we did right,
after a lifetime within a lifetime
we arrived here
still awkward in our new suits
of knowledge,
but looking more like diamonds
every day.
And your eyes are still the Arizona
sky painted in miniature,
and your soul is still the same galaxy of
light I called my own,
the way a lake calls every shade of sky
its blazing eye,
the way a black-tiled sea can be one
with a ceiling of stars.
I never thanked you for believing,
in days and years and forever.
For silver kisses that spin Time
into gold, for a love
that creates who you are.
For you must have known it too . . .
That only one thing would remain:
the part of me
that gave itself to you.
Patricia Joan Jones
To read more of my work go to: My Poetry List
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