Your Never and Always Ring of Fire

Back to Issue 10

by Laura Reece Hogan

Sometimes only a hand,        your hand,        comes between us
and death.     Moses, who begged to see,       you shielded from

your passing glory;      you loved too much to say no.      Can you
feel         our nearest passing by of you,            the bride languishing

for the light of you         for the sight of you,        setting in her nothing?
Sometimes you put the whole              far moon                   between us

just to return her love              sometimes in a new moon invisible
she feels the blister       of your passion                         a presence

hidden in the gloss        of absence.       Sometimes at apogee,
the farthest point           when earth and moon and sun      you align

in lunar node     you shelter her                 crown the daytime night sky
with a marriage              of fire and not             never and always;

dark disk steadily bites into bright                       eclipses the eyes.
Except for the longing                 there is no prayer for this.

Sometimes only a hand                   your hand       holds        the moon
just so               pours molten fire            into perfect annulus

one minute twenty second        slender, blazing            ring of promise
for your dearest love,                                            dearest passing shadow.



Laura Reece Hogan is the author of Litany of Flights (Paraclete Press, 2020), winner of the Paraclete Poetry Prize, the chapbook O Garden-Dweller (Finishing Line Press), and the nonfiction spiritual theology book I Live, No Longer I (Wipf & Stock). She has contributed to First Things and EcoTheo Review.