Saturday, January 23, 2016


And here I am
in orbit round her once again;
held by the delicate
gravities of love  
that keep me falling ever inward
on her selfless grace. 

Like moths that spiral
round the lamplight
in a country lane
I'm greedy for the light she sheds,
the new perspectives that
her gentle wisdom lends.

But I am fearful too
because the circling moth  
is big and clumsy as a goose;
the flap of wings could
break the lamp
or blow the candle out.

Where, then, is faith that
even geese have souls? 
That, even now, my clumsy
too self-conscious
awkwardness of love
has merit in her eyes?


(c) A McNaught


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