No more, say thy sinewed arms, to thy towering legs – and from thy peak, no where more to go. But so say my eyes, to my heart: yonder the flowering fields; so much, so much more to grow …into these coming days
She surprises me, every time she does it. This no sombre treading. From point A to point B. There is the skipping. And the jumping. The wildfire gaiety. Up all around. The roses that spring. The world has yet earth-bounded. Dancing in remembrance. If only for a lifetime. A youth.
Thick fog that swaddles the trees, Outside against the grey swathed seas… sweet rioting of birdsong – The swashbuckling blades, Freed my heart and me.
A knife. The sharp daggers of surprises. The bitter pills of disappointments. Flushed red. The fluidity, that curves, that rushes over the harshest of stones that would knock me from my elated perch. The twists and bends, and all life’s wondrous possibilities, there in my love’s eyes – are all the ways a day becomesContinue reading “How a Day Becomes a River”
. 3am, rose like a mountain Pure blue Gloaming, The Tropical breezes, the cool nights Lapping, the kissing waves Of memories. Will my Soul – shorn of flesh – know its way, Over oceans, Rivers, Thorn and burr-filled Meadows, To my Birthright, my mothers’ Home.
. Unfold the world a perfect rose, a quiet storm of colours humming from the soil, in the rustling trees, a thousand waking, wishful dreams enjoin, entwine my eyes in gardens of spring.