Our Last Breath Turns into Light
by
Jennifer Angelina Petro

Our last breath turns
into light. It is not just love
that defies reason. The beauty
of service does too. Yet,
in the end, we cannot walk
together, and every storm
is an initiation. Follow the different
curve. The gaze of the Beloved
is leading us home.

Almost Unbelievable
By
Jennifer Angelina Petro

I seem to always be sailing at night waiting
for the arrival of the day. I hold a misbehaving compass,
and the cherubs at the edges of the maps blow too many winds.

Every now and then moon-sheened dolphins leap over the boat,
and that’s undeniably beautiful. Yet mostly I wait
remembering the holy names, drifting through star-shadowed crags,

and pouring longing onto devotion’s fire, waiting
for the light and sound to come together, bringing me at last,
to your waiting, almost unbelievable, shore.

Bliss is Real
by
Jennifer Angelina Petro

The forest of Tulsi,
where Krishna danced
with the gopis, is still there
opening to a hundred roads.

What does it matter—iron age,
silver age, bronze, or golden?
We’re all dressed like Radha.

The inaccessible one shakes
off the world. Bliss is real.
The bed of the one without a second
is waiting for you.

The Star-Nosed Mole
by
Jennifer Angelina Petro

The star-nosed mole has twenty-two rays
shining from its short snout, and that red, fleshy light
guides the blind eyes as it throws dirt behind with grappling claws.

These are bhakti days—even the flea leaps for joy.
What isn’t the shabd? Everything digs
for the vermillion light just ahead behind the dark.

Oceans Made of Love
by
Jennifer Angelina Petro

I started out
dancing
in atoms leaping
from one
animal breath
to another inhaled
swallowed
soused into
stomachs
then found myself
a seed
thrown from the wind
sprouted spread
palms withered
curled into
the ground and then
for a thousand
years a tree
near a pond
that soaked up
the moon, and
later surprised myself
into a grasshopper
nibbling leaves
springing from branch
to branch then
snatched and bent
in half by a crow’s beak
sometime
later hatched
from that crow’s egg
and flew
right into the raccoon’s mouth
grew a coat of coarse
fur scavenged
in trash and slept
under porches until
dead by rat poison
and after
awhile was born
through my mother
and father and here
searching all
reading all driving
walking eating sleeping
and I don’t remember
when you found me
and took me by
the hand
walked me over
currents of light
and sky
of bells ringing
soft as flowers
walking further
and closer
we merged one
into the other
and I started
dancing again
before your radiant
smile and deep
sea eyes
until I became
no more
me but you
the light
the ocean
composed
of nothing
but drops
made
of love and love
and love

Feather-Touch
By
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

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.

He Finds You
By
Jennifer 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
washing every shell, and collecting them
in the infinite folds of his memory, and returning them
to the sea where they belong.

The Soul Hears Everything
by
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

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.