Poem softly

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wearies me and weighs my words with woe.

A Wedding to Passion

Oh taste of the night when shame departed me
And love overwhelmed my troubles:  

Realize the dream of your creator's love.


In the year One of my becoming I lived with ones
Who sought my love and gave me peace.

In their Long Island apartment I daily adhered less to
The moments of rude pain that trapped me in fear.

A winter or spring night and I alone was awake:
A finality had made itself strong.


I, who had cherished my mother; I who had yet struck at the
Underpinnings of hope; I who had thought justice a whore

Rather than a whore justice; I who had murdered stars,
Thinking them cold ancestors of my pain;

Sought peace, sought life, sought recompense for a lost
Shore where orphans lay cold in the troubles of their Art.
 
My shudders, alive to their own rarities, proceeded
From yet vastly loving trials.

Anger at loss troubled me:  I found trouble also in the Creatrix's
Charge:  Love begins with Art.  Else life is war, pain and loss. 

Enchanting causes offered hope as I clung to the expectations
Of my parents and hid from the dignities of the beckoning Goddess.

As hours passed I could not resist beauty and possibility:
I filled with a sapphire poesy beyond thought and habit.

I embraced soft lofty Sanctity and dressed myself in
New foundations, traversing the beautiful New bridge.

Worlds of passion and freedom thus encircled my
Coming-to-be a sister in three.  Dear mother love me.

I am your daughter.

O chance love cold in pain, draw away from her rose.