Saturday, December 17, 2011

woman at the well

all they think about
is the sin of the doing
of hair coming undone
the exotic misery of
life borrowed.
there are worse things.
could've missed it altogether.
not found the dearness of it,
deep to the marrow,
in a softly shared song. 
not a life for the faint.
not a life seemly chosen.
yet even along the small path
of one small spark
is divine purpose
and a radiance of angels fills the rooms within 
with the impossibility of love's goodness,
unconditionally settled for, and joyfully
made do.










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