Hyperbolic Love

If I stretch the chambers of my heart
As fingers of a child do
At play
I do
With silly putty
It is work
Laboring in love,
We wrap blood and muscle
Round and round
Till death
If I part the seas of raging water
Between us
And calm them
With a tender word
No man nor woman
Indeed no one at all
May put  asunder our fragile love
That which is joined by God
Mark, Matthew, and
The Methodist priest
Proclaim
I stretch the proclamation
In sacred acts of faith
Embrace
A holy mystery
For I have been
The rusty gate
And I have
Been a wrecking ball
Into the wall
Of his beating heart
And yet
The Patient
One
And I would
Call it no small feat
Though war analogies are old and tired
Cliches of power, yawn sigh yawn
Show strength ad infinitum
And so
We must claim a form of victory
In this joining of two souls
And with all of Webster’s
From which
To choose
A word or two
There is no stretching
Of this truth
That what we have is
Hyperbolic love
Running on the holy fumes
And thus far
No asundering looms
On love’s
Next
Quarter century mark
Stretched
By grace
All four chambers filled
With what sweetly smacks
Of
Miracle,
Mystery,
A wholly, holy
Regenerated life in love
And if you were to ask
By two hearts stretched by hyper-extended grace.

Joining Laura