a kiss (perhaps an embrace)
December 2025
Blown glass, dining chair, writing
4 x 4 ft.


Included text:
There is a time for everything, wrote Qoheleth, the teacher:
A time to be born, and a time to die–
A time to mourn, to dance–
To scatter stones and gather them–
A time to tear and a time to mend–
To love, to hate, to kill, to heal. (Ecclesiastes 3:2-5, 3:8)
Whether toil or bliss,
humanity’s curse is to begin and eventually cease.

To fear an after is the true labor of the soul.
God is not the hand that grips our throats
commanding virtue:
It is our own divine worship of the unknown.
And how empty, I ponder, how it must feel
to find your God in divine rules that deny the
earthly pleasures of letting bodies love
like the animals we truly are.
We are one,
and we are the monument of trial and end.

I find my God lives in the spirit of connection–
Her rapture grows
in a caress,
A grasping need for breath.
In that simple touch, pure and energy,
In a pause:
where time ceases and boundaries blur
and two become one, creating a third new spirit.

Love burns through the grace of touch,
in quick glances and tranquil shared space
we are the image of God
and we are spirit
and we are body.

We are one,
And we are the monument of trial and end.
A strand of three cords is not easily broken.
(Ecclesiastes 4:12)