Devotee

Janet Butler

Sundays are wrapped in quiet for me,
their glaze of silence, their transparencies
of light and shadow suggesting a something sacred
watching with deep kind eyes,
unlike that rush of weekday hours
the minutes laid with a heavy brush
all surface glitter.
When did you slip
from weekday to Sunday,
become an icon, my center of worship?
When did you slip from human to holy,
heart’s focus, your name itself a talisman
provoking pain, daughter of desire?
I pretend a soft indifference, but love
feels your mystic aura, feels itself within the magic circle
of your furthest reaches, me a devotee
with lowered eyes, flowers in hand.

Advertisements

Tags: , , ,

Categories: Uncategorized

Subscribe

Subscribe to our RSS feed and social profiles to receive updates.

No comments yet.

Share your thoughts...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: