The sorbet of the Divine

for those I met

Arbor had fear,
From a passing stranger
I fed the canary while
They sung in unison
Scared they flew away
A stranger approached me
I was about to faint
The crimson ground
Made tectonic sliding
We feared death

She lives in a distance
Yet she lives with my
Breath and the soul
Radiates in her ether
She remembers the Lilly
I brought from the garden
Of certitude, and
The roses in a blasting white

I bestow as a final touch
Where freedom smells Love
The two-sided medal
Has the love pentacle
At the abyss of the surface
I taught on Kernel of the Kernel

She prayed in the biggest Temple
In synergy with the rolling through
My burning cheek, fried
Crystal tear in nacre transformed
I evoked Salamanders
To extinguish the fire
With the fire

The crystalline cup
Of the wine, Divine to obey
My thirst

The wisdom approached in
An old fashion

The knowledge bangs
The manifestation of freedom.

The Love eternal Lady
Wowed the platinum thread
An oracle tapestry
She made
I sat there…
I felt there…
I saw there.

Those I met in
The realm of the hanged forms
I saw her dark sapphire eyes
That kept the beauty Secret
The body that sticks
All fallen stars and
The heart of her
That is a sarcophagus of
The secrets; of the chosen

Her voice is the symphony
Of the golden leaf wheat
And the hush of a Sybil
The argument written in
a forehead
Bears testimony

What the holy womb bears
The witnesses are
Two lights
The Angel of the left and the angel
Of the right shoulder

She recognizes the seal of
A prodigy’s scalp,
And double up and down turned
Triangles
In my Plexus

She is not Mary
She is not Amina
She is not Bathsheba

She is in a circle of curiosity
I’m in the square of stability
Who cares for the mouth?
Of the Cantankerous

The conundrum is set Mandala
The white rose of my being
Bleeds the blue
Because I Love eternally
As a Luna full
Careless of the barking

For a quantum of a moment
I disperse in those I met
They hardly recognize
The quintessence of the “I”
They only remember
Occasionally
The smell of the rose

Even this is for me
A Sufficient Something

I may only rest and
Breath as infant
Marked with the seal
In his forehead