A Letter to God

 
Undo what wills. Do what shall in peace delight.
Love has no direction but its own
 
bright grace, yet is particular,
 
“beloved” or solitary
 
so as to return again and again
 
to its own Self.
 
Here. There.
 
Wrapping itself around you,
 
petal and leaf.
 
Becoming wings where there is nothing left
 
to bind you to this ‘only’ place–yourself.
 
 Every word whispered, breathed,
 
by this inner wind
 
into every other’s space,
 
Here. At last
 
residing in Itself.
 
Ourself. This silence,
 
unforming.
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