A Pilgrim in Pays Cathar
Whose pale eyes aching blue
drink light from Cathar skies,
and wander at the brink of love
as by the ramparts steep and stark
a pilgrim stands defiantly above
this folly and this human fear -
except the fear that love denies?
The ocean rushing with rough clouds
on Monsegur, at Puilaurens,
seems now to be no more immense
than your deep well of innocence
where loneliness remounts again, again
Even to test its own demise
against the grain, feeling declines
the azure welcome of those skies.
So aching blue, those lively eyes
look timidly upon the glass
where time reflects how days will pass:
how sweet the look, the smile, the kiss,
the simple pleasures that you miss
are missing you as well — so long
will sorrow raised to Cathar heights
ignite at dusk in starry lights.
No single kiss offered in faith
can be erased from here and now.
At rampart’s rim one broken vow
dislodges like a falling stone,
but nothing you can live alone
will undermine beauty’s commands.
This fortress stands on love alone
and holds the pilgrim near and dear.
October 27, 2009