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| 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 --
circling
them,
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 --
the
prompting
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.
