My poem
tries to evoke her,
but silence cannot fit
in the mouth of the sky.
Thus my inked birds
go fluttering about senseless
like embers escaping
a raging fire,
their burning wings searing
the face of the air.
My inked birds
flutter about senseless
but who deciphers their song
as it rains over the earth?
A learned mystic once said
that the beloved is too great
for this world to contain
so existence tears at its seams
and her waters spill
soaking up this world
and all others,
becoming in all things
their inner vibrancy and life.
My poem
tries to evoke her,
but then my heart swells so wide
I find my pen leaving silence
to ink the last line.
Rooted in Love 
This is haunting and beautiful.
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So it seems but such love rarely exists, unfortunately.
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Rilke says in a poem of his that “being born sufficed for me to lose you a little less.”
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A mysterious statement to me, as it seems that everything gained in life will be lost in the end unless we believe in eternal union after the body’s death.
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Life is lost in advance then. The statement becomes less mysterious once we channel the energy of love and longing towards definite goals and creative paths. The beloved is not an ambiguous term; he, she is a way of life, centered around the values we hold dearest. The love that touches us never fades, and it is our duty to carry on with the seeds it planted in us.
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