Feather-Touch, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

Jennifer Angelina Petro


Trapped in seasons of sadness,
I know my longing lacks solvency.
Each new desire rivets the chains
I drag along. With a feather-touch
you could break them should I only
lift them before you. When that day finally
comes, the chains will fall—easy, like
drapery, into something approaching
a circle at my feet, and I will not look back,
as I step from the rusted roundel,
and stumble into your arms.






The Sweetness of Being Found, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

The Sweetness of Being Found
Jennifer Angelina Petro


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.
But when all is said and done,
you will bask in the eternity
of the sweetness of being found.





The Soul Hears Everything, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

The Soul Hears Everything
Jennifer Angelina Petro


The soul hears everything.
Every movement of the deer has meaning.
Gestures carry thought as they unfold, disappearing.
The morning distributing light for the understandable day.
Praise is due to every flower.
Someone is awake in your body—someone grafted to the infinite.
It’s OK your life is a map with errors.
Get up.
Flex all the unflexed muscles and sit.
The earth will forget you just as you forget your dreams.





One Word, By Jennifer Angelina Petro

One Word
Jennifer Angelina Petro


Bring forth what you can.
He considers nothing provincial.
Even with your head bowed he sees your tears.

Let him pick the muslin cloth of your life
from the thorn bush. It is his business to sew you
back together.

Every touch of his forehead
is a beckoning. The five words are one word: Come.
Lift your face, move closer. He is crying too.






All Night a Mouse, by Radiance Angelina Petro

All Night a Mouse
Jennifer Angelina Petro


All night a mouse gnaws on the wood frames
behind my bedroom wall. With so little sleep,
I try to get up and into the spirit of things,

as the early morning, sidewise sun, invites the play
of light. Birdsong phrases the day’s narrative. It’s time
to be my own ark and gather in the animals of my devotion—

safe from the already sprawling storm of thoughts.
He hears me coming in advance—in my mind’s dark light,
and soon the names–their tones—inner, and long tones

–each one a song—start floating just above the flood.
How does he do it? This ceaseless pulling me from the horizontal
to the vertical? I know he’s there most even when I don’t see him.

Abandoning myself to that faith–the self-searching heart
that’s grafted to the infinite–That is all his grace.
I have done nothing really.

Somehow, he puts up with the mouse of my wants
chewing on the bones of the life he has given.
Somehow, he loves my darkness best. For that is where

his all-joyful light lives—lives in nam, lives in
those words—those radically musical words
that own me–my knowing truly, wonderingly, whispering

in my every moment–such a fundamental notion—just repeat
some names. What could be simpler than that? A mountain,
high above the waters—waits for my ship to go aground.






He Is There, by Radiance Angelina Petro

He is There


Radiance Angelina Petro



When beginning

you can sing,

testifying to a hidden



Let the sensibility

of the imagination

arrange the details,

and join them.


It all necessitates

a conscious start.

Turn a little to the side—

he is there.


Narrow your focus,

rise, and practice,

don’t stop singing,

he will do the rest.




Drawing the Line, by Radiance Angelina Petro

Drawing the Line


Radiance Angelina Petro



The first necessary movement he makes is to draw the line

that changes our perspective and shifts our inclinations, making us

become aware life departs from symmetry, which is too much to bear.

Our darkness has the greatest potential to break, and so, he draws light

from that.  The turning point is when we realize it all seems complete without

being finished.  His simplest line of action is to attach us to a common center—

a fixed position of grace, and all the details and draperies drawn in pale lines

are left behind, and in great, sweeping gestures, he swings the line,

curves it inwards and upwards to become your lifeline.  All of his lines

weave our way, all of his lines are expressions of devotion,

all of his lines strive forward, all of his lines radiate crossings,

all of his lines move in rhythm, all of his lines describe the simplest way

of action, and all of his lines interlock, and form a strong togetherness

as we are erased into bliss.




My Undoing, by Radiance Angelina Petro

My Undoing
Radiance Angelina Petro


I do not want to be reborn. Before is filled with darkness and sorrow, learned fears, and sickness.


Let my death be an unfolding, unburdening,
a blessed untangling, a sacred unveiling,
an easy unloosening,
a gentle unhusking,
a tender unlacing,
a sweet unraveling,
let me be unharmed, untasted, unbroken, untwisted,
let union with my Beloved be unstoppable, a hungry unclothing, a wild fulfillment
unconditionally accepted, unequivocally wonderful,
let our timelessness together be unrushed,
our passion unabridged, and shame unlearned, the moments of bliss exquisitely unquenchable,
our union unbreakable,
let my soul be unchained,
my heart unlocked,
my hands uncuffed,
my soul uncrumpled,
let my conversations, once and for all, be undramatic,
let my soul be untethered, unfaded, unfallen,
let there be space and time to unfeel, unform,
to become uninhibited, unfurled, unjaded,
let the warmth of breathing together
be the unfreezing of lifetimes of winter,
let death be joyful unmaking, unmasking, unquestioned,
let my fears be unneeded,
my hours unnumbered,
my Beloved’s love
undressed, unserious, unending,
let my unsteadiness be steadied,
my innocence untainted, untarnished, unstolen,
my self-hatred unthroned,
my soul untrodden,
let me finally be
unwoven, unafraid— the gift of an old life unlived–
lived now, and shared in the hands of his eternal acceptance—
let this be my undoing.