a sudden jolt
and a flash, soft patterns
play a tapestry on my mind.
When wishing Nature’s beauty
that day we were hidden in love,
the skies protected our surround
kept safeguard upon our soul.
I am listening,
hearing, a sadly alert
sense of time and place,
wondering where she might know …
My heartache begins a slow
Iveant to feel
leave traces of beauty
reminders in song
stream along my cheeks.
There’s a rumble I hear,
is it my imagination,
is my mind
lost in a sea of confusion,
the night sky lights up,
to offer a beacon of survival,
a moment to reflect,
a sound wave of natural existence
the surreal state I seem to want.
Yet I do listen to the rain,
hitting my picture window,
dancing to a rhythm I can only
does the same in her quiet
we stand inside the storm,
we wonder about each other
wander towards the moment,
the imagined harmony we once
understood to be whole,
a holistic sort of reckoning,
together we planned our sojourn,
and we would wake with one another,
eyes in a fashion
Listen to the wind,
calls our name,
in a sweet silence,
while the wet rains sing.
Do you remember that time,
walking in alleys,
staying close, looking for eaves,
the water teasing our eyes,
like sweet rhythm
in a tapestry of sensuality,
garments gradual gathering
in the damp nature
of a beautiful summer rain.
We would walk around water
summer in a showery afternoon,
an already wet,
delight caress me delicious
stroll within my arms, feeling peace,
when our soaked disposition,
in rain swept eyes, lips damp,
sweet flush cheeks,
my hands can land anywhere now,
in the wet,
beauty of your abandon.
Remember when we would walk for hours,
and then the shelter,
strip off our wet garments to each other’s eyes,
dry cotton, still our arousal is in the
quiet wonder of knowing
the depth of our love goes well beyond
a rainy afternoon.
Oh, the soup, warm, waiting, hungry …
When in a rainfall, we wait to watch the droplets hang,
a lush forest, where a glistening fire of Her magic,
awaits our eyes, doesn’t beg, just does remain,
… and we continue to move about our day this way.
It would seem there might be a need to recognize,
She is a gift to be cherished in her every wise
manner of Grace in lighting up our lives,
to know certainty is the absolute of her mystique.
When love might be recalled, described, wondered,
there is this natural sense to look to the forest,
whereby the answers will always await the traveler,
the one who ceases step to pause, whisper the magic.
Deep inside the wood, glance into the depths, the sound
a Throstel make would carry a man’s heart further beyond
the tangible nature of life’s preoccupation only to wish
upon her soul, she is a seer, sweet mystical aura, is Love.
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.
I’m surrounded by a memory with a visual tear,
volumes, bindings, words waiting upon hands
and eyes, I remember her eyes
would cause me swoon,
when suddenly in the minute I turn,
she would stand, alone, content,
her chosen travels inside the parchment
only to pause to smile.
I remember moments well, and yearn
to see a familiar shoulder, a wisp of hair,
oh, her eyes, I wish only for those once more.
I stepped outside today,
the world opening before my eyes,
a light rain,
a soft, quiet, lovely reminder
that allows me to return to a place I cherish
when in the silence of an afternoon gray,
she would …
I could …
and together the rains would walk our lives
through a maze of delicious passion and delight,
the sort of real,
that moves beyond this simple analogous notion.
It is the rain,
the tears of our natural cause,
the places we do travel together,
all alone and en masse engaged in
an elegant cleansing,
it is that time,
stand in surreal sensuality,
feel the tease of a reaching climax,
the heat of our own passions
making allowance for this sweet response