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