Wondering upon our almost forgotten smiles
and twinkling eyes hidden,
we have spun this world
in smoke and mirrors,
reflecting light in curving waves.
We have wandered
into the misty fog
as it marched
out of clear air
on a perfect night
to become rooted
in the moss upon which we dream,
seizing that ethereal ground like honey
under winter's veil.
Perhaps that explains why
that which spins in you
is foreign to me,
sometimes,
and yet somehow
a thread of it loops around my heart
and tugs,
as familiar as kin,
or friends too long apart.
And I realize how deeply
you reflect the same light
that I've known uncounted
for a thousand years
times a thousand more.
I feel the stretch of this flaxen fulfillment
and hear its golden tone humming
as it lengthens.
Sometimes too loose to vibrate
the membranes
of our soup-can telephones.
So that even though we both speak
in muted carefully hesitant tones,
our words slip away into space
and only the stars know the songs we sing.
Bellowed out like whales in an empty sea,
only by chance refracted into a hearing ear,
that begins to understand
and then lapses into slumber again.
that begins to understand
and then lapses into slumber again.
Even as magnificently we harmonize
beyond the dark face of the secret moon at midnight,
we hear not each others callings,
and even less often see them dancing.
Except perhaps
in the limelight of our hearts sweet glow
where I know we live.
So it is odd to feel
this familiar twist
of an old theme
of distant overtures not really knowing
what note should follow
the one that follows
the one that is yet unwritten.
It just floats there unresolved,
sometimes aching for nothing at all,
other than the illusion of being.
Yet sometimes aching for the grace
to say softly,
the love that floats here
the love that floats here
in my heart for you,
without trying to enchant an echo.
Just to freely blow that kiss
into free space knowing
that is enough to be received
by the one that is.
And given by that one too,
to itself.
And so I reflect upon that flow
I have named you,
and wish it good journey,
knowing we are both leaf and river.
Masters of the helm
we sometimes do not steer
and only at the mercy
of the sea we will not tame.
