Tangled & Merging

Night falls,
her dark hair in rivulets
fills its lonesome corners;
the candle of her breath
ignites somewhere
inside the vast darkness,
casting a play of shadows
against the spinning walls;
a cloistered world,
an intimate world
of poetry and wine
and our lips
and our naked bodies
tangled and merging
somewhere deep inside.

What It Means To Touch Her

My thoughts
my breath
my words
melt into her
and I touch her
silently
where she has never
been touched;
I touch her heart
I touch her soul
I light a fire in her blood;
I welcome her darkness,
I embrace her light
and I feel her in my heart
growing deeper than the earth
shining brighter than the sun;
I take her everything,
her past, present, and I future,
and I give her the gift
of my masculine heart:
I open her to God,
I open her to life,
and in that connection
I become a man
living his days
to the fullness of his heart.

Flowers of Eternity

A fertile soil your heart does hold
For a flower inside to blossom and glow,
Nurture it and water it with special care
For the scent of such purity heightens my soul.

Once intoxicated new awareness I gain,
From here on in life a new taste I crave,
A seed from your heart to plant in mine
And find out now what colours it will show.

Strange, a brief moment before the morning sun
Might light your life for the rest of your days,
A little taste of immortality our flowers do hold
For here we remain, even when we are no more.

January 2008.

Letter, October 05, 2019

Lived simply, in deep attention and presence, a life can be so full that its echo reverberates to the stillness of the stars — the garden’s dust on my shoes, a good book, a cup of aged wine, and your face, beloved, hovering around all things like a cloud, their inner light, their intimate aura. I write to you today as the sun sets over another autumn day, as the wind withers away the leaves and grass leaving nature and my thoughts bared down to their essence. Time is moving and life is trickling away, yet a deeper stillness is settling in my heart. It feels to me as though, if I lift my hand, I could almost touch your face; as though the warmth of your breath is mingled with mine. This silence is a prayer. I listen to the wind in the yellowing leaves. I write another poem penned with the ink of your love.

On the Road of my Life

In the middle of my life
I look back, I look forward,
and I find that nothing matters
except this wave of love
that carried me in its surge,
propelling me from shore to shore,
tearing me away from people and places
to root me in ever brighter realms
and deeper, more nourishing grounds.

Nothing matters but this love
in the here and now,
this smile and this tear,
this dash of salt
in the open wound
that mystics call longing,
that lovers call by a name or a face,
and this musical note
that for ages drifted
over wave and wind
now coming to rest
on the table, over my hand ,
caressing me with the tenderness
of the woman I have never known
but always loved.

In this moment
that is ever fleeting
nothing matters but this love,
take it or leave it
it will live through you
until you are nothing more
than a handful of dust
blowing in the wind.

When Sadness Comes

When sadness comes
sit with her, invite her over
to a cup of tea or coffee,
or maybe just a little wine,
resist your urge to escape from her
by drowning her in some frantic activity,
and rather hold her gently
like you would your beloved wife,
drown in her eyes
all your sorrows, fears and anxieties,
tell her what she already knows,
your insomnias and terrors
before a life devoid of affection, meaning or completion.

When sadness comes
sit with her, though she thumps
against your chest
like a wild horse being tamed,
gather up your strength and tell her
all that the harsh tides of life
have washed up inside your heart,
or just sit with her, in silence,
reading a book or listening
to a bird singing happy and unaware.

When sadness comes
smile back to her, sadly,
and offer her the dark rose
of that void pulsing in your chest,
and watch her take it, gladly,
placing it delicately
in her wildly waving hair.

When sadness comes
welcome her, that lifelong friend
loyal to a fold and intimate and tender,
and know that all she asks of you
is for you to tame her
so that one day she may begin to tell you
all the reasons for which
she is your promise of love.