Love Returning Love

Love Returning Love

(“For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.” Colossians 3:3)

All I see when I gaze your way is
love returning love.
Your eyes seeing mine are the same as mine seeing you.

I’ve left the mirrored lake behind that caused Narcissus
such blindness. The reflection was flat and deceptive until
I saw the image of every human infatuated the first second
the rippling vision hit their eyes. We are static at the reflection
pool
to fool our inconsistencies. Echo helps by answering back
every elegant name we beget staring into water that
has no devices of its own. You are not you in the mirror,
you are not the royal we or the enthroned epitome. You
may need to walk a while, down the trail, toward the cavern dark
where bats and dimness breed forgetfulness, where damp silence
leaves you outside camera lenses and microphone intentions.

But in that motionless moment,
if you will let the watery image die,
you may find yourself seeing in the dark,
fascinated by mossy green and iron reds on the
cavern walls. You must go there alone, though, once
alone,
you will never need to venture into the darkness again.
If only you find the companions that wait outside,
that guard the entrance from intruders,
and watch it for friendships that have been stripped
of illusion
and, though mildly confused, the man is a child again,
the woman a toddler hopping in wonder.

All you will see when you gaze divine is
love returning love.
Those eyes seeing yours are the same as yours seeing them.