Slowed by age, my
relationship
with the Friend has perked
up,
wringing out, at times, from
the very
heart and marrow, wine and
tears.
I harbor no hope, as this
intimacy
steadily grows, for a long
life,
knowing, by faith, time is a
fantasy.
I’ll depart whenever,
at the perfect moment and while
my life shall end,
(strictly speaking, by a sort
of carefree conviction)
I’ll keep hurtling onward
without pause or lapse,
my Companion clutched to my
breast,
toward the end and the Goal –
wherever the Truth may take
us.
O child of God, all is arranged, all benevolent
or else nothing, nothing,
nothing matters at all.
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