Cosmic Cup

31 Mar

 

Wish

there was a way

to empty all the words

right down to the curve of the heart’s cup,

a way to let them pour without spotting,

without the fear of stain

on the ironed cloth of present being.

Cups are supposed to hold in curved kindness,

despite crazing of human heat,

despite bits of golden rim dissolving into the drink.

Nevertheless, purpose serves.

To empty and refill from a darkened kettle

steeping stars and nothingness,

a limber liquid

offering all, over and again.

Love and eternity

in each dark sip.

Leave a Reply

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 )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ 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 )

w

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: