There is a place, and once there, or here, maybe we can stay.
Supposedly rich, we can afford this anointing lighthouse.
Sad if still we fail to see this spread of sea in front of us,
this lavishing of spikenard mirroring sun, heaven upon earth.
And, up high it is so easy to see all of the universe. And yet,
why is it up here even upon our lofty echelon, we so soon forget
our gift of vision? We look through even each other, and go blind
in our memory. Sometimes seems there does not seem to be
Wednesday, March 13, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: life and death,perfume