Capella

Capella

(“How beautiful you are and how pleasant, my love, with such delights!” Song of Songs 7:6)

The eyes that see only love are never blind,
and never void of beauty. Only love,
only delight,
only the spinning of rainbows in spite
of the clothing clotted with mud.

The universe is a bridal procession
with the beloved awash in blush, embarrassed
at the attention, but drawn to the One
who sees her more fully, beneath the skin,
beneath the face of age,
beneath the trauma that pencils a smile on the face
that ached with pain,
and found joy again. The beloved
no longer shrinks or scuffs; she dances, while
everyone watches, and He just stares,
captured by one look of her eyes.

She is not the caricature, nothing like the satire,
she is not a newsprint cartoon.
She is fragile like paper, strong like ink.
She is romanced when others think she
is not worth the dowry that pays any price
to see love, to see delight, to see the palette’s spectrum
mixed and glowing like the Sun, like Capella;
she is many, she is one, she is arrayed in silence.

Selah.

They are one.