True Love Always Wins Chapter 2

Polarities

Sometimes she is like sherry, like the sun through a vessel of glass, Like light through an oriel window in a room of yellow wood; Sometimes she is the colour of lions, of sand in the fire of noon, Sometimes as bruised with shadows as the afternoon.

Sometimes she moves like rivers, sometimes like trees; Or tranced and fixed like South Pole silences; Sometimes she is beauty, sometimes fury, sometimes neither, Sometimes nothing, drained of meaning, null as water.

Sometimes, when she makes me pea-soup or plays me Schumann, I love her one way; sometimes I love her another More disturbing way when she opens her mouth in the dark; Sometimes I like her with camellias, sometimes with a parsley-stalk, Sometimes I like her swimming in a mirror on the wall; Sometimes I don’t like her at all.

Falling Stars

Do you remember still the falling stars that like swift horses through the heavens raced and suddenly leaped across the hurdles of our wishes—do you recall? And we did make so many! For there were countless numbers of stars: each time we looked above we were astounded by the swiftness of their daring play, while in our hearts we felt safe and secure watching these brilliant bodies disintegrate, knowing somehow we had survived their fall.

Desire

My desire is always the same; wherever Life deposits me: I want to stick my toe & soon my whole body into the water. I want to shake out a fat broom & sweep dried leaves bruised blossoms dead insects & dust. I want to grow something. It seems impossible that desire can sometimes transform into devotion; but this has happened. And that is how I’ve survived: how the hole I carefully tended in the garden of my heart grew a heart to fill it.