Courage - Maria McKee

Sweet Beatrice is rooted to the earth in such an arresting way

A magnetic pulse grounds her with singular authority

And her charge is surging upwards and out

Then cascading down so at odds with her fragility

It is a disarming gift held in someone so young

And so winsomely arranged

And I search her motions

In an attempt to find the primer

To read all that she discloses

Just short of calculating her mystery

I hope to never uncover from afar with a view

Until the distance rocks my body with gloom

And I drift hollow through my days

Blind to the world and all of its

Treasures and betrayals

And I know that she may be the only one

To rescue me out of this

If she were to somehow know

And to find my affection for her ridiculous

Oh but that would kill me

But I will never have the courage to tell her

I will never have the courage to tell her

And she walks by and I must love suffering

And she walks by and she walks by and I must love suffering

I have decided I will not confess

To these words fraught with urgency and longing

I will hedge and I will deflect

And talk of metaphor and broad stroking

Before I give myself away

Before I implicate my undoing

It is nobody’s business

If I should hoard this sacred thing among my ruins

And I cannot help but drink in all of her beauty

As it is now peaking

And so much about her

So informs the graceful story I’ve been seeking

And I, I thought I’d seen everything

But I will never have the courage to tell her

I will never have the courage to tell her

And she walks by and I must love suffering

And she walks by and she walks by and I must love suffering

In the Witching Hour, in the night

When the words descend like Manna from the throne

And the pumping at the pedal

And the lingering echo of my left hand drone

I will go down into the pit

And to the edge of any length

Where lies the magic and the wit

And the power to invent

And I’m so grateful that she fell into my vision

Just as she is, so winsomely arranged

And I am working at a fevered pace now

Just to transcend her

And elevate her ways to a context of high art

That will defend her

And I, I pray that I am worthy of this

But I will never have the courage to tell her

I will never have the courage to tell her

And she walks by and I must love suffering

And she walks by and she walks by and I must love suffering

Sweet Beatrice is rooted to the earth in such an arresting way

A magnetic pulse grounds her with singular authority

And her charge is surging upwards and out

Then cascading down so at odds with her fragility

It is a disarming gift held in someone so young

And so winsomely arranged