Against All Risk

By

Radiance Angelina Petro

Thinking of light, and the rope that is love,

set forth in such a way—knowing the frame

of your life is not strong enough to last.

Grapple as if you mean business.

Angle inwards into wide open spaces

and unenclosed waters.  Against all risk

move towards a country without coordinates.

Feel the thunder in the air.  Time is passing.

Why even bother trying to reconcile with reasoning

his always wanting your company?

Fall back in the great sigh of resolving yourself

into his hands as he charms his way into your soul.

Follow the lilt of his voice.  The path is long,

the mountains steep.  Accept his desire

is ascensional, and grab the rope.

The Final Bend in the Road

By

Radiance Angelina Petro

My soul rings cracked.  Here is the marvel:

beyond the narrow cast of reason there are no

outer margins to his mercy, there are no

hidden meanings when he says: “Follow me

and your soul will ring true again.”

He walks the path of embodiment into my heart.

He is just what my heart was fitted for.

Through the drab utility of the day, the many

shifts and slants of my desires leave me unsteady,

the angles of everything I build never meet

flush and even, my thoughts are a series of endless loops,

the definitions of my life vague and vary as directionless

wind—no matter how far I go, I have barely

gotten underway, I walk only with half-steps,

and low, sweeping branches cast a thousand shadows,

and yet—still, I move.

He is the proof of his own wish

inviting me to come and taste things unseen.

He establishes his grace as the center of gravity.

The city of his love is invincible.

“Love is not learned alone,” he says, taking my hand

in his, as we meet the final bend in the road.

He Finds You

By

Radiance Angelina Petro

He finds you, just as morning finds you,

just as the sky finds the fledgling’s wings.

He finds you as every wave finds the shore

and washes every shell, and collects them

in the infinite folds of his memory, and returns them

to the sea where they belong.

Try not to sleep against the day.  The living awakening

finds you with the light he carries in his pockets.

Do as he says. The unavoidable storm of his longing for you

will shake the foundations of your life.

And when all is said and done, you will bask in the eternity

of the sweetness of being found.

Rose of Charan

By

Radiance Angelina Petro

The quiet gardener moves among the flowers,

with his camera, like a fragrant, living breeze.

His smile encourages blooming and blossoming.

He meticulously arranges the leaves with all the attention

to detail as a spider spinning its web.

He considers the slant of the light, he notices shadows

and brushes them away with a wave of his hand.

He bends closely—focusing on the rose he wants.

You look up at him, blushing in the face of a greater sun. Then

the shimmering pause—the exquisite anticipation.

Remember this moment

forever.

His focus sure, the brightness unblemished, his hands steady,

his keen and tender gaze—parental and fixed.  The shutter opens,

the exposure perfectly timed. He snaps the picture—capturing you forever

in his eyes, in his heart, in his journey to the sea.

Today

By

Radiance Angelina Petro

There’s a way of getting the pillow just right

behind my head, and my socks cannot be falling

down to my ankles if I am to sleep.

Is it true a song hums just behind/within everything we see?

I bend to listen to a gardenia, and laugh.

As I drive, repeating five holy words, the rain pulls my car

ahead, along the road.

Somewhere, someone gets up from the back row

of a church, and walks for miles, lost, towards home.

I know everything matters in such a way as to not.

The song keeps flowing.  The words–audible light.

And the rain lifts its silver curtains, and the moon appears

making the wet road shine.

Someday, I will awaken, and step in from the crowd,

and follow your voice to where my prayer shawl waits,

draped over the living room chair.

Until then, I will adjust the pillow, pull up my socks,

and drift to sleep.

Like So Many Roses

By

Radiance Angelina Petro

I go inside to find you, and a praying mantis appears,

turning its face towards me.

Your voice of many waters drenches my cells.

Your accent turns ordinary syllables into little songs.

If you must pour another day into my life,

spill the light and melody everywhere.

I would have given anything to be the wrappings

they adorned you with for your cremation.

How the smoke must have risen, like a black river

scented with sandalwood, how the flames must have risen, like

so many roses released into the sky.

Angels

By

Radiance Angelina Petro

The remembrance of light awakens each room,

my prayer shawl drapes waiting over the chair,

I feel you arrive, turning time into wind,

and I know you will stay forever again,

you play hide-and-go-seek out in the open,

yet I’m always half-lost looking for you still,

you signal me warmer with audible light,

your laughter at the ready when I find you,

more reliable than the way of language,

your hands smooth my prayer shawl on my shoulders,

your signs and wonders affirm which way I go.

Last Chance

By

Radiance Angelina Petro

In the dream, the dark figure

enters the room, places his cloaked hands

on my head, and whispers something—

something about my father and his father

and his father, going back generations—something

I need to know—a secret unutterable until

now. Hundreds of miles away, my father,

aware someone is coming, stirs in his bed.

Broken

By

Radiance Angelina Petro

As I move in line, I notice

there’s a crack in my dinner plate—

a nearly invisible seam.

If I urge it a little, it shines.

Arriving at the servers,

I lift my plate.  I am so hungry.

Lord, we are all fragile this way.

Let me finish this one meal,

and I will change my life forever.

The Day Poetry Was Born

By

Radiance Angelina Petro

The day the banished couple

sat desperately trying to sew

together the fallen leaves of paradise,

was the day poetry was born.

With the first steps they took away

from that garden, poetry became

a mountain of trees, overshadowing

the two they left behind.

Walk now with them.

Remove the unnecessary leaves.

Move in pure sound and naked images.

Say with me: “Fuck the rules!”

And do not grovel at the feet

of any god’s conditional love.

Trust your desires.  Follow Lilith’s way.

She will shelter you from the coming rain.

She will open the better ark of her body,

and invite you in, along with all the others

left to drown.

Adventure with her with the raven’s words.

Let them go in search of land

and hope like hell it’s never found.