Bring a balm, a fragrance, to this heart in need of solace
and to this body bullied into this unholy pace.
Bind up my worries and sorrows.  Pour me love’s healing wine.
Let my soul draught deeply, let it soothe my bones.
Life to death.  Communion, please for the solitary
kneeling at the altar, my very essence, I return.

When I try to write, I’m too tangled in life to return
to my hidden landscape; weaving metaphors that bring solace,
cyclical life from life is halted, melee arresting times of solitary.
Time is of the essence if I can still it, decelerate the pace
and breathe.  One thought at a time.  Listen to the peace in my bones
spilling ink upon the page, forming orbs and angles, like water into wine.