Perfect Communication

The thought dangles like a diamond on a chain, twirling above my head.
Is it possible?

Tears speak first, evidence of the pelting rains of judgment within.
I let them flow, splashing down on my breasts, burning and cooling.

They complain of promises broken, dreams unfulfilled; loneliness and littleness
popping out of the ducts of my eyes, while someone rests inside, watching,

allowing the honesty.  My spittled words lie like pits on an immaculate altar.
Still I decide to share my truth, the pain offered to an invisible Listener.

Poetry flows as the wings of my heart flutter with joy. I so covet the desserts of spiritual solace!
But pause…though the journal is open and white page impatient.

I am led deeper, meandering through the canal of the One Ear Who Hears,
knowing somehow silence is the greater Poem, and truer conversation.

I fall into quiet like tears into a placid pool and bathe in the immunity.
But the grabber seizes the pen. She pours out this little bliss.

The communication is broken then. The immaculate instant refuses to birth anything less than Christ. This will never suffice.