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Jennifer Meade

When He Moves; a modern garden

I count the days, transgressions come to one.
For logic to replace the wait with song.
I've nestled in his mind for what's been years.
To perish there would bring my soul to tears.
Submerged in marble, beats the lost son's heart.
Breath is lost in the fury of his darks.
I've questioned every aspect of my life.
In his hands, I've fallen, a pensive wife.
Light listens when he loves me in my sleep.
He sways, but I do love him til' I weep.
He moves, yet I'm sublime in his order.
My patience burns. Transcendence is the border.