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.
There is Little Doubt a Brand New, Altogether,
Extremely Valuable Silence Is Needed
By
Radiance Angelina Petro
There is little doubt a brand new, altogether
extremely valuable silence is needed.
The old one is damaged beyond repair.
In the meantime, mix the new
and what’s left of the old to the point
of breakdown. You can feather-edge this
repair without worry anything will chip.
Gradually stir the sounds into silence,
then slowly spread the mixture over your body.
Make sure to do this while floating a little
above your bed. This will help you enjoy the sinking
and settling down as much as possible.
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.
Each Step
by
Radiance Angelina Petro
After awhile, miracles lose their sense
of the miraculous, which is, in itself, a kind of miracle.
What will be delegated as reality today?
Will the lamb you carry in your heart turn
into a lion? As it is, we walk with birds tied
to our wrists, and the wind’s voice
is inconsistent, and shadows puzzle the road.
But Ray, each step counts as a goodness.
Something Majestic
by
Radiance Angelina Petro
Something majestic stands behind you.
Tomorrow is the beginning of time.
The causeless cause is none other than
something majestic standing behind you.
Something that knows tomorrow
is the beginning of time.
Nothing
by
Radiance Angelina Petro
Someone asked me
at the motivational workshop
what would I do without fear.
“Nothing,” I said. And I could tell
that wasn’t the answer
they were looking for.
We Are All Born from Worship
by
Radiance Angelina Petro
We are all born from worship.
Through the long ground
of experience, and dreams that slip
from the mind, somehow we strike
the common chord at least three times.
The cedar tree, even without wind,
trembles it’s branchlets, like feathers, shaking
out the birds with sky in their bones.
All Night a Mouse
by
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.