Sacrilege/ Lover's Spit

By gratuity

Why do I recall thinking now,
Could we speak about God this way?

We were both alone, watching
Swallows flocking at Eastbourne Pier
Against the fading light of day.
Grey and blue,
Sad, but
in the best way.

Far away, they were invisible
Then suddenly etched black into the sky
As they shifted with the wind
Then gone again, coming and going.

I was moved, and you knew it.
You held my hand, and traced my cheek
“This is-” you said.
“God is making love to you.”
And your hand caught the quiver you made.

They were invisible, a storm of chirping,
Then suddenly etched black into the sky,
As they shifted with the wind
Then gone again, coming and going.

- Was this God?
Did he always send his love, and did we
With the usual faults of the beloved
Leave him unheard,
Unheeding, while he left his love?

The swallows flocked close now,
They cleaved, solid-shaped
But then spanned again
Leaving loose strands of anxious things
Trailing and hastening
To escape loneliness once again
In close embrace.

But they were both kinds of embrace,
Once with the open air,
And the other in being together
So that they would always return
To each other.

But “BULLSHIT,” you had said,
And I agreed.

It was bullshit.
To drowse like us
In the wind that brought water softly.
To languish
In our soft words,
Thoughts of coming and going

Far away, invisible, but
Suddenly etched into the dark sky
They shifted with the wind,
Coming and going, then going,
gone finally.

*

And today, “God is making love to you,”
You say to me again.
And why do I recall thinking,
Could we speak about God this way?

And then, when they had gone,
you had said it once more, too.
Holding me close.
Your peculiar soul, reining me in.
Wanting to be heard.
And then you had kissed me, and I had thought
Lover’s spit.

Now you say it,
When the day’s last languid gold
Is fading into blue and grey.

Was it truth then, or was it false
In all we had lived and said?
Now you notice me, and trace my cheek
And with your hand, behold-
caught the quiver you made.

With you by now, I can still see
Far away, invisible swallows
Etched into the sky
Coming and going,
Shifting with the wind.
When the day’s last light
Is fading into blue and grey.

And I recall thinking then, yet how
It did not seem like sacrilege.

See Resource: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kFaypkwEXh4&feature=related (by rowanlubke)

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Sacrilege/ Lover's Spit

Created: Apr 11, 2010

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