All I Ask Is This

all I ask is this:

that when my eyes blear red with weeping,
a gentle hand will sluice down the waters
of my leaking heart

that when my Sisyphusian shoulders bleed
with the desolation of restitution,
comfort shall be offered and thus received

that armor will be removed with tender touch,
soothing salve laid solicitously on searing wounds
dressed by nimble fingers,
and a light fluttering of wings touch their lips
to my threadbare, sodden lids

all I ask is but this:

that when the memory of the greatest Love
the world has known
racks me in a shuddering release
of pain and passion,
the arms of eternity will wrap ‘round me
and quietly still the eruption of my soul

that in the darkness, light will flicker
and in the light, 
the darkness will deign to shade me
from a rasping glare

that the sun will rise in the morning
and warm the frozen tundra of my smile,
the mockingbird sing every song yet sung
the grass underfoot beckon my weary step in welcome

I pray this and nothing more:

when I bestir myself to survey
the battlefield on which I lay,
I ask only to be gifted sufficient moments of silence
musical echoings of heaven’s vast canyons,
a way made through the carcasses
that litter the surrounding ground ~
and I am given a peace
in which to gather my shredded wits about me

that the terminating moment is once more held at bay
the upturned jug fills my mouth
with a quiet cascade of ambrosial waters,
the torn and tattered legs beneath
extend me to height once more

and that I return emptied of ancient agonies,
wiser and yet more willing
rapturous in fulsome heart
and filled with the abiding glory of the unseen

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