canticle

canticle… je vous ai voulu pour toujours
july, 2010
jeffery mcnary

arriving single-edged in all her forms...
amidst the swirling mist, un-veiled,
treasured and high minded...comes the rain-goddess,
with her wind blown hair... something from a fairy tale,
deliberate
and dressed for the occasion,
tipped sideward with invitations to view the world upside-down she smiled…
and waved…she behaved in that way....

ah, there you are…as a foreign film full of fiction and giggle…
there’s you,
enchanted,
repairing detachment with the giddy while draped in the elegance of your purposed simplicity… lingering long in scenes all of your own…there’s you…
…welcoming in the distance…

we’re collected works now …formed by believing, possibly defying…
we’re quick moments…messages startling and sudden…waded through…
we’re constructed histories with layers of edits...mediums carved from implication…
of passions and ambitions wailing…of stalled out anthems…
we both know paths. dicta and destinations,
should you care to notice…are more than meet the eye now

ah, there you are…amid the swish of painted, rustling silks with
your magic lamp.. your uncommon way…your roots grown deeper
than asked for from your traditional sources and rituals…
those grandly imperfect episodes of revealing, un-yielding, viewed
…with others eyes and subtle public magic…

i’ve seen those pilloried in past lives...faces on stamps. i saw a republic, with eyes missing. i believed in the wild and in spring, though not exactly. then i saw autumn
with a thousand faces at the door...i saw those who hated very much...those of whom
the poets sang and the ancients warned...then i saw you, with your warnings
and your own wide unblinking eyes.. ‘AAs’ as you said...shimmering in my desert...

i wanted to settle properly…brazenly…into casual tones…to wash your hair
with herbs…to wipe the moon with promise while experiencing the harmony
of all that without conjured things in patterns and alchemy…without
threads running between us. but mockingly you’ve kept a straight face,
…swearing off fantasy, and in the fullness of our brief days i dreamt your sigh…
……echoing…“envie de te toucher, tu es loin”… as i stepped from the shade and
……… righteously stepped back into circulation…now writing such things…

…there are no tenses today…no wrong answers…there’s just your rhapsody
…and little to explain, only to understand...and your way…your airy, ethereal way…
as fragile and gentle as a saffron metaphor
…as naked trees in a falling rain

i have left a chest of things there
…..linen and candles
……….things for the return
……………things and oils of earth tones and magus

listen for me…listen for my calling