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The Furtive Glance
This “remembering” of the Beloved… Soft and tender.
Not a grasping after, a groping, For She cannot be “found”.
Not something “done”, Through Love and Surrender.
A movement, through Remembrance, To the Sublimity of the Inner.
Not abrupt, “My Love… are you Here?”
A movement of Affectionate Longing, For She dwells not in the future.
Less a “moving toward”, Here… Now… Still… Quiet… Longing.
Perhaps, at first, The Fragrance of Heaven.
Then… the Warmth of Her Presence,
And then…
In which Lover and Beloved And the Heart's Desire is Fulfilled. |
