The crucible of divine love
Squeaking floors and fuming minds
Bookcases lining the walls all around
the smell of old books and Augustine’s voice
“for the Father will be shown to us
and it will be enough”, I pause
The detailed carvings of the English gothic windows
face me with a question most dreaded after all,
in the meanders of my soul, have I been blinded,
have I let my flesh become prey of a worldly reality
losing sight of the eternal fullness of our joys
My fingers brush the desk made of elm
What if you were my mind’s construction,
my embodied desires gathered in a projection
would you be real or a mere mirage
built on the altar of false allegiance
The light brown binding of a codex
catches my attention for its legal emphasis,
as if following the rules led to being exempt
from torment and constraints,
while singing a lullaby to the desires of the heart
This library, a place where hearts and minds
have had to concur despite the doubts
and hesitations of generations,
partaking in this holy exchange,
the surrendering of one’s life desires
Just as Christ pursued our whole self on the cross:
the very crucible of divine love
