Louis Templeman

The flowers of grass open to
my dull tread tracking
through the dew of grace,
rain of tears, flow of blood
into the sun of your beaten face.

I step into the welcome
of the wind
and pass over to the unknown
where I am desired
beckoned by beauty, the beckoning
terror of sheer beauty.

I return changed,
witness to the secret place,
bearing the wounds
of beauty’s face.

Louis Templeman, a writer, lives in Jacksonville, Fla.


Spring Fricks | 1/23/2011 - 9:59am

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