|Delphiniums courtesy of Pixabay|
This poem was first published in living with what remains:
THE WAY THE SOUL ARCS
Judith Deem Dupree
A bee has come
to harvest my delphiniums --
leaving a halo only I can see.
The blooms are potted
on the sun-streaked deck --
in clay flared slightly
by the hands that held it to the wheel.
Its shape reminds me
of the way my hands cup, rising,
opening in praise
when Grace is nearly palpable.
Blossoms spill in tangled glory
down the earthen jar,
too much glory to define as *blue*.
They break with logic,
with its need for category --
to explain, to clarify, compare...
Like the way the soul arcs around
our shaped theology,
searching for that unseen radius
where Glory spills --
as indefinable, as prescient,
as honeyed as the aura of delphinium.