I took a walk today,
a quiet stroll along the river,
lush leaves in a deep valley,
very little of anything.
What is it happens when two souls,
meant to share time,
do experience a fresh rainfall, wet leaves
while the journey continues
there isn’t a word shared, in fact there is
I wonder if now might be anything like the same …
We do take walks together,
we stroll into a sunlit summer
our eyes do search for one another,
all the time,
we know our lives are meant a freedom.
Now, the twilight speaks to mind,
wonder about her,
curious about him and the evening,
It is always that way we both agree,
there is a time when our walk will be
There’s a rain steady,
keeping indoors the traveler
whom might be seeking the wood,
may stroll along the coast,
skipping rocks, switching thoughts,
contemplating the beauty around them,
the coffee shop,
holds promise to the conversations
around that though similar, seem different,
contain stories all the same,
their worlds are always different,
in the context of their moments,
until we can catch each other’s eyes.
We wonder about the people next door,
a table nearby our own private world,
did they speak of it,
were they aware,
was there a time in their lives when everything,
seemed similar, possible, simple,
perhaps it is true,
they say it often enough to never forget,
we’re all the same,
we haven’t any lead on the element of change
the human condition might experience the same,
euphoric wonder built upon manifest tragedy.
I was sitting along with my company,
my world against hers,
together we were watching our own world,
responding to the elements in a unique fashion,
yet still, very still, almost
in a sort of decopaged setting,
to be measured in someone else’s eyes,
for they are the judge of this life,
we are simply the portrait.
A stillness in the air,
while we wait the rains,
they might part to give allowance
to nature’s Grace in the wooded freedom
of a dense forest,
away from all wander of deception.
While I stood inside the sidewalk cafe,
I watched the people around me,
create lives of envy,
to balance those of misfortune,
whose measure relied upon me,
or my own eyes, or their’s or someone
with similar passion.
Yet in all of our sightings,
there seems only one reality.
We have these imaginations,
they are a fuel to our sometime need to be real,
to compel ourselves by a photograph
to maybe believe, such a setting to be true.
We do look the part, the perfect world,
a smile, a posture, held hands, eyes that cannot
tell a lie,
at least in this single moment.
There are the occasions that call for such a facade,
an instant moment when the story belonged
far elsewhere than did the
immediacy of a setting.
Perfect worlds, imperfect settings,
though the human condition
survives all moments beyond a mindful
reaction to our own certain circumstance.
My perfect world today, is far away from celluloid,
it is in the immediacy of her eyes, the ones I dream about
in a setting I choose to believe,
is in an eternal moment, her moment … hers is love.
It is when, the early moments, eyes still heavy with dreams,
focus upon the physical, wood frame reaching walls,
the mind in slow motion begins a greeting,
a notice, a painting, ties, the dresser is a haven,
in morning wonder he does ask forgiveness in absent mind.
Roll onto his back and sense another,
yet the isolation is familiar, a partner in animosity,
tender in notion, until reality again suggests a fatal flaw,
not dangerous, only a sadness that has long ago manifested
the linens that prevail to simply cover sleeping bodies,
morning wonder now has eyes on spattered ceiling.
A fan rolls smooth, winds with purpose, reminds fantasy,
if we focus on only the shadows of rotation,
if only for a moment,
imagine siesta in a warm climate,
the fan offering reprieve from scorching heat,
yet this one is cosmetic in northern wood.
Stretch his body, know that soon a waking reminder,
the day ahead, the tasks so yearned,
lay back on his side, tucking an arm underneath,
look out to the wall and imagine
her eyes, waking to find his own.
Oh, if that moment could be right now.
She brings me in the room,
with just a photograph,
a rest upon a shoulder.
I can touch her lips as if I am with her
having known that moment,
when tracing my fingertips along naked …
I do recall opening eyes to notice hers,
watching me, waiting, anticipating,
a smile as I might accept her way,
to find, to know, to need this want of passion
I do remember,
the silence in beauty,
when two people might share desire,
to wander in anticipation,
to find her
I do glance now, relive, a picture,
and am grateful to know the image,
remains consistent …
It is when I can imagine her eyes,
searching the paper, the right keystrokes,
for we are beyond the parchment,
the monitor speaks to her,
while the journey continues,
to find her soul in saying hello.
I do see tears, they are those I wish to touch,
with lips that will assure her
always the reflection is my love.
My fingertip might catch a runaway,
gather between finger and thumb
and bring this moisture to my own lips
to be with you in every aspect of my mind.
It is when the sunlight brings me to my place
this fashion of life I choose,
when waking to the moments,
as the clarity of her elegance swoons my mind.
It is then I know, her words, her beauty, her sweet
While my world begins, I am traveling with you.
No one might ever know,
the sight of you,
I did today however though
see eyes in the blue.
Thought not a glance as I’d anticipate,
she did play the role of a beautiful muse
an elegant woman, of highest integrity’s state,
she stood to depart, my smile would amuse,
if only she knew my intent,
oh to what extreme the extent.
I wanted her to be you,
as I watched in the quiet blue,
the ocean’s waves a constant
that could swallow me whole in an instant.
Yet tonight as I say goodnight again,
I’m thinking yes, of you again.