Yes, we cry, the distant sanderling moons
Loneliness longing our wholeness of heart
Eyes mirroring the mystery of wounds
Sacredly merging truth's beauty with art.

Love it is, in all degrees we explore
Furiously hungry to know, we compose
Dressed as Poets and Warriors to restore
The quickening in the womb of a rose.

They say our wild flesh will finally rest
At the feet of love's most luminous verse
To sail along our soul's deepest request;
In nuptial honey these hearts shall immerse.

Unrestraining passé forms that contain
The sacrificial life, of this, our pain.

  © Minerva T. Bloom

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