raybear | A poem should not mean, but be.

A Love Poem
by marci johnson

At night I wait for you,
watching the day unravel
from the cliffs,
frayed light clinging
to the shadows of a wall
that slips and sinks
into the hill banks.
The trees are grey and thin
from wearing of the fog
that sifts in waves
and settles, dead
upon my skin. Listen!
When I am quiet and alone
it is your voice I hear
singing with the angels,
holy, holy, holy Lord--
we are holy; then
meet me in the sanctuary
where lips form prayers
to broken stone,
my knees on bended ground,
dry knees upon the ground
where our words lie.
How do I love thee?
I have counted the ways
with tears--
isn't that enough?
It is not enough.
It is never enough.
There is no way
from one person
to another.

Everything Is Going To Be All Right
by Derek Mahon

How should I not be glad to contemplate
the clouds clearing beyond the dormer window
and a high tide reflected on the ceiling?
There will be dying, there will be dying,
but there is no need to go into that.
The poems flow from the hand unbidden
and the hidden source is the watchful heart.
The sun rises in spite of everything
and the far cities are beautiful and bright.
I lie here in a riot of sunlight
watching the day break and the clouds flying.
Everything is going to be all right.