What now is,
What may become,
And the lever betwixt and between
Whose grip Love alone can fit
To move and lift from fate to grace.
A place to stand she offers him,
The lever he reveals to her.
As one hand they honest grip and stand
And fulcrum Time at their command,
The mountain moves into the sea.
The painted circle spins, but not in-place,
Seasons return, but not to where they left,
Never back to here again,
Where the lever works but once upon fresh manna.
That elusive living lever —
That betrays both shield and spear,
That melts into the mist when less than Love draws near.
There are no lines that lead to it,
No circle passes through it.
Yet it waits for us beyond all secrets
Where Love’s vision never fails
And death is no farewell.
I tip my hat to Bekki for a kindred poem posted 2/8/2009, “Fierce is his living“