Facing Eternity, By Radiance Angelina Petro

Facing Eternity


Radiance Angelina Petro



The three-dimensional fields of our lives

drown in detail.  The rhythms we recognize

as living, and our attempts to resist the wind,

are all part of a vast, uncontrollable sea.


Somehow, we are light-seeking, somehow,

we are solar-following, somehow, we reach

the edge of understanding, and gravity still

sees us to our graves.


He wants our participation in pursuing wholeness.

Somehow, the seeds of his mercy migrate

by means of the wind, and they find us

at our most drifting though the summer of our lives.


There is a Japanese legend that civilization

was born the first time someone gave someone else

a flower.  The ever-true gardener lives for beauty,

and when he touches us, a rose blossoms in our heart.


He knows we are solar-opening creatures, and his glance and guidance

are timeless light.  And the difficult uprooting

from our lives to be transplanted to his garden is needed,

and it hurts.  “There are benefits to this grieving,”

he says, “such as paradise. Come, face eternity

with me.”







Tiger Resting in the Shade, By Radiance Angelina Petro

Tiger Resting in the Shade


Radiance Angelina Petro



“What moves me is beautiful,” he says.

“Look at these roses and hibiscus,

look at the tiger resting in the shade,

look at the forests of Manali,

the spider’s web, the turban-tying

of my grandchildren, the bhandaras,

the Ellora Caves, the Kashmir mountains,

the sevadars, my mother, my daughter, my sons,

and then come, look in the mirror of my eyes.”





Midnight Sun, By Radiance Angelina Petro

Midnight Sun


Radiance Angelina Petro



If you ask me how he draws me

with his silver wire through the furrows

of my life, and its places in the air,

how he suddenly appears every time

I go far afield, and how he shines his way

into the little anatomies of my day-to-day,

you know very well I will confess to not

having a clue; but, if you ask me

to hazard a way to describe such love,

it would be safe to say: “wild, nearly reckless.”

Why he doesn’t leave me, why I am

the apple of his eye, why he is

my midnight sun, the only answer

I can come up with is this:

I am his little sister, and his Father has given

him charge over me, and he accepts

this onerous task, and will stick to his last

to take me home.








Tipping Back, By Radiance Angelina Petro

Tipping Back


Radiance Angelina Petro



“Go in and find out,” he says, over and over.

How he is so patient with me is a mystery.

He heralds access to the beyond—

to his country of origin—to a place where the sun

shines in the night.


As I tip back, then lean forward in meditation,

loosening my aching muscles, my mind wanders out

into the street.  He is the life center everywhere

I go, and he follows my downward curve,

so, I am never alone.


The moment I try to come back, he unleashes his love.

“Energy is liberated from burning,“ he says,

“Come, let us set your longing on fire.”






Vanquishing Shadows, By Radiance Angelina Petro

Vanquishing Shadows


Radiance Angelina Petro



The only vital fact

we need to know

is death.


No matter our searching

for a relative place

in the world, there will

always be a sudden

turn downward—

a retreating and diminishing–

despite our insistences otherwise.


Try to remember:

Master thinks in light.

He promises newborn

suns and galaxies.

The way will be made

plainly visible.


Fear is real.

Our living in the caskets

of our bodies

is real.


He does not fault our fear.

There are no boundary lines

to his tenderness.

The soft play of his voice

is enough to vanquish

the shadow which

marks the spot.

Bridges are raised

with his every move,

and with one step inward

he rescues us, walks

with us to the other shore,

where death lifts

its broad wings and flies away









One Word, By Radiance Angelina Petro

One Word


Radiance Angelina Petro



Bring forth what you can.

He considers nothing provincial.

Even with your head bowed

he sees your tears.


Bring the muslin cloth torn

from the thorn bush.

It is his business to sew you

back together.


Every touch of his own forehead

is a beckoning.  All of his words

are one word: “Come.”

Lift your face, he is crying too.







Details of Folly, By Radiance Angelina Petro

Details of Folly


Radiance Angelina Petro



I live in Lost Hope Hollow.

Meditation is encircled by bees.

Everyday is an endless repetition of beginnings.

I repeat the names, and thoughts

dash about, like a thousand minnows.

So many lost motions.

So many twists of the body.

I rattle at every step.

All evidences converge details of folly.


Please, just this once, do everything

for me, so that I may rest awhile.

I promise to never ask again.

I know I must put in the work.

Tomorrow will be the perfect day

for me to start.






The Land of Hidden Things, By Radiance Angelina Petro

The Land of Hidden Things


Radiance Angelina Petro



Is there any way of telling

how great his love?

Distance is a mirage to him.

He follows my roving

and ferrets out light though

I burrow myself into my myself.

He considers nothing impossible.

Invitations to his snuggery

stand no matter where I go.


He carries me—his wings unfolding

as we rise, into the land

of hidden things.

He slants the opposite direction

my mind wants to go.

Every sweep and graceful turn

conveys his conviction

I will one day walk with him

in fields of golden light.







Feather-Touch, By Radiance Angelina Petro



Radiance 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

he could break them should I only

lift them before him. When that day comes,

the chains will fall, like drapery,

into something approaching a circle at my feet,

and I will not look back, as I step away,

flowing into his arms.






The Merest Swerve of Your Wings, By Radiance Angelina Petro

The Merest Swerve of Your Wings


Radiance Angelina Petro



His love is no ordinary country.

Orbit him as a moth dances to the light.

He responds to the merest swerve of your wings.

Cherish your trip around the beautiful.

He has new ideas for you that he will

reveal in his own, tender time.  Be ready.

You are a harp in his hands, and he wants you

to sing. Take a deep breath—his fingers are poised

just above the strings.