The final poem of the 2010 seven poem cycle, written to celebrate the poet's relationship with the totem-muse known as White Sunday. It expresses the poet's belief that he has a commission to serve as an evangelist of the wonder that is his lover. The poem is in the poet's Triskadekian canto form, the Latin quote (from the Vulgate) translates to "Behold, I am with you, even until the end of all things" from the Great Commission, signifying that the poet has placed his love and poetry front and center within his religious frame.
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Ecce ego vobiscum sum omnibus diebus, usque ad consummationem sæculi.
An evangelist from a ronin, made by your love and his faith in it.
Dreams subject to the wind, but strong enough to tack and track the future.
I accept the commission, whether it be to your bedchambers or the night.
The cold stones are small comfort compared to your tender kisses, my love,
but I am given to this ordination, this extraordinary moment of grace.
I will feel the cold winds and the sharp stones that will be my bed while I await
your signal at the window that I may re-enter the city and claim my place,
beside you, before you, the more you dare, the more I care.
We will conquer all that before was too much for one alone to overcome.
We will conquer all that before was too much for one alone to understand.
We will conquer all that before was too much, but never again, my love.
This is a defining time, a sibboleth for the true romantics, awakening
slowly. One by one they come, then two by two as they are reacquainted
and the night fills with dancers and lovers and the voices of poets.
The sacraments have been taken, the vows made unbreakable if we will them
to be more than just words. Poets. Amomancers. Dreamers and weavers
of life and of the purity and surety of the passion you have returned to the world.
Ecce ego vobiscum sum omnibus diebus, usque ad consummationem sæculi.
This is our world, our world to explore and lay together and speak of what we have found,
sounding out the worlds of corners of life where no old worlds existed.
I am your priest, your preacher, your acolyte, your pope raised from an heretic
who had lost his way and will and had forgotten love, as he had been forgotten.
And then you came to me and made gentle words into amomancies to heal me.
I am stronger now. Still feeling and reeling from the scars of the unrepentant
who do not understand the nature of this brandywine, this heady intoxication
drawn in sweat and sweeter rain from the tempest of your body, into me.
We are lovers. And we shall reach for the heavens with renewed hope and faith.
We are lovers. And we shall teach all that heaven flows with renewed faith and hope.
We are lovers. And we shall teach all that heaven is now resident on this earth.
Kiss me and be slow and meticulous in your touch, awaken me at any hour
to call me to you, to demand I execute the sacraments again to prove my love.
I will not turn away from this joyous duty, I am purposed to your happiness.
I have been shaped to fit the curve of your body, the bend of your soul
and the darkness within you is of relevance to me, for I do not leave poison
in the wounds that they may not heal sufficiently, I will take it into me.
Ecce ego vobiscum sum omnibus diebus, usque ad consummationem sæculi.
I am a patient evangelist in your name. Bless me and empower me again.
And again. And again. I will share my sacraments and thank God for your existence.
William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.