I look for you but do not see;
the pounding of my heavy footfall
does nothing to draw you close;
instead, you fly like the blue jay

from the branch

as I watch from below, standing, waiting.

I search, backtracking, trying to erase the frightening sound,
but you are already far off over the mountain.

So I wait, and I will wait,
a shepherd for her lamb,
a lamb for her rescuer
I wait for you,
for us, in the garden;
you are worth my patience,

and we are worth the energy it takes

to choose love each time, every time.

I look for you
and know your cheek will touch mine again;
soon I will drink, I will breathe you in again.

In the spirit of prayer
I wait for you in our garden
while myriad antagonistic circumstances thwart our reunion;
daily toil keeps you in the village,
and young garden nymphs conspire to wear me out long before evening.
By nightfall the pomegranate halves beneath my veil run pale,
and your radiant and ruddy cheeks have become over-ripe.

And so we retire long after the day has cooled and the shadows lengthened,
one after the other;
but we wake together, both in the garden,
to begin again, in the heat and in the shadow,
our playful delight in Love’s sweetness.

Time moves and moves –
the days do not come just as clouds
dotting the sky
but as storms and sunshine.
Perfection falls away
and expectation vanishes –
what comes to me now
but surprises and gifts?
For in the mystery of suffering
God’s grace abounds
and his love is constant.

And so, I do not only love you,
but trust you –
indeed, my whole self trusts –
heart, mind, soul, strength –

Can there be a greater choice –
to love, to trust, to give
everything
in hope and in joy,
in the spirit of happiness,
the spirit of prayer?