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Open Gates and Open Spaces

by Scott Kurtz

You and I
walk lazily
through places we
have never been.

and thoughts begin to fly from mind to hand, and I begin to wonder why
it is that you feel safe (and sounds of security surround)
when my weakness envelopes you in a vain attempt
to attach itself and become strong.

You feel you know so very well, the me that I don't know myself;
the old familiarity; the scent of aftershave.
To see you smile a knowing smile in my direction (is an intervention
of some form, to reassure my parranoia-flooded core).
And could I be so sore a loser in this race,
to lose it all and gain nothing but untraceable amounts
of your respect and love, and see the fall of walled-in-courtyards
cordoned from the grasp of well and evil meaning hands alike?

You say I've curbed your fears of open gates and open spaces
and I love you for the honesty you've given me . . .
No, it is not true. I love you just for being you
in times when you are beautiful (all the time, it seems to me),
and beauty, feeling ugly, passes itself off as merely vanity - Insanity!:
I love you then the most,
and it is at those times that you are more than most.
No. Scratch that. More than any.

* * *

One penny; when held tightly and gripped selfishly is one alone,
but lent and freely sent, it returns! And exponential freedom
lets possession unlike possession take its position.
And it is the will of the one and the grace of the love
that allows itself to be controlled and needs not take control of its own.

I and you have learned the difficulties
of the soursweet freedoms (and frivolities)
of light, so-based in loss and sacrifice. We will learn more
as doors open in our faces to unfamiliar graces
bestowed, undeservedly, on two
unworthy, unwilling, unfaithful, unfinished servants of The Way;
in fervent adoration (at some hopeful future point)
of The One to whom the rocks cry.

The Cornerstone cries out.

He dies.

And you and I
walk lazily
through places we
have never been.