Fallen Perfection

God I bare it all before you.
You are glorious and eternal.
While I was made mortal.
Nothing other than a polished man's rib and God's breathing.
I remember you from my dreams when we talked about the manner of songs.
When we ran through honeyed cornhusks, you thought the wind and a robbin's eggshell blue would also kindle celebration in me.
My grandfather found joy with the sound of the slamming porch screen door as I ran to pluck plums from the trees he had grown.
It seems my fervor is held within the scared palms of Christ and my husbands kiss.
I am both reckless and forgiving. Grieved and uencumbered. Cherished and Aching.
A fallen perfection.
There are sun drenched cathedrals beating in this heart and a rush of snowy wings housed in this soul along with the velvet train's childhood call.
But lightening split the old oak I used to walk to.
And Karma's ringing laughter is reserved for worshiping seraphim and my memory.
The only thing I know is what remains is you.