Late summer morning glory,
Sunlight saturating moist northern air
So that I seem to peer through a billion tiny mirrors
As I look towards you walking in the distance
Beneath the pollarded London Planes.
If I wrote in a language more mystical than I dare use
I would write that the world is saturated with God,
So ethereal and brilliant is the August light
As the world tilts slowly towards September.
But God is a problematic word
Packed full with meanings that are not spiritual
But are political to the core, as Jesus was
When he spoke of forgiveness as the nails punched in.
God is too small a symbol for a creator,
A kiss may be more holy than a treasured hoard of prayers.
Yes, love is political however we care to view it,
And I know this too well as I watch you walk
towards me,
Your eyes full of laughter; your mischievous smile
Transgressive as always, yet kind beyond speaking.
And I am more in love with you than I have ever
loved in my life.
Profoundly intuitive your presence illuminates wonder.
God is too small a word to describe the awe I am feeling.
So I stand here watching you slowly walk towards me
Among gardens so rich in colour they seem unreal,
More dream like, and yet, far more substantial
Than miraculous images in a stained glass window.
This morning seems transformed by a transcendent beauty,
The beauty of truth in love, more radical than faith or art.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
31st. August 2024.
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