New love - julie finch

New love

Meager and magnificent,
your body aches for the wonder
of a thousand nights:
The imploding stars of
what may or may not survive
your own annihilations.
Days go by, and invitations
come, but you dismiss them,
intent as you are upon 
recognizing the one you’ve
witnessed in an especially
vivid dream. Yet, that dream
has passed, and, reluctant,
still you hang on.

When a bell has rung, you
cannot unhear it.
Life is calling, loudly, for
you to listen to a new song,
and follow with all your might
its luminosity, its bright and
joyful notes, plucked from
some instrument you cannot
name, by whose mercy you
can only attribute to a God
you do not understand, but
one who knows the mournful
cry of the forsaken well,
and the highest praise.

Trust the one whose hand
guides the baton to your 
choir of hours, and lift
your head to awaken as if
a crown were banging 
against the bars of a golden
cage; you saw it in a movie
once, how the peasants, 
upon hearing the tone,
longed to embrace the 
breath of heaven,
so beautiful was the sound.
Be still now and know:
You are not alone, and the
crown whose music exalts
the very air is your own.