Love’s Season

She imbued me with greatness beyond my range.

She met me on a field she couldn’t maintain alone. It wasn’t mine to occupy.

No longer can charmed hope animate ahead of me—

Or at least not longer than patient reality’s pending introduction —and refrain.

I grieve while offering listless contrary testimony.

Words pass and none assuage.

Is the one who announces, protected?

When did our love slip from the breathtaking loft that God made for it alone?

How did the cool of yesterday’s draft find our sacred den that knew only warmth and humble inspiration?

…not the habit but the courage to return.

Seek the edge of the recent precipice and lean in—again.

Life and love in openness made

Not the void so commonplace

To trust one’s self, to trust and know

To trust in Love and Her alone.

-Ron Renaud