Circling

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