Wandering Thought # 100

The years move on, and the things which seemed so important become trivial; time and loss have a way of distilling life to its essence. The years move on, what remains now are the simple things that were there all along, waiting in the quiet. The years move on, and we start making friends with our own disappearance; how well can we dance the dance before saying goodbye?

Haiku # 667 | Tanka # 199

On the occasion of the ending year.

The years passing by…
a chasm deepening
in the cave of my solitude

~

New Year’s Eve…
in the family album
the faces gone by

~

Last night of the year…
another leaf falls
into the fire of my longing

~

At year’s end
I measure the distance
between you and me…
a thousand years
of unquenched longing

Free Verse # 389 (old year, new year)

For the new year,
in each poem
I’ll rehearse your name
ever more faithfully,
in each breath
deepen in your silence,
the mainstream of your heart.

~

Touched by your light
the moon and morning star
shy away in silence;
the whole celestial sphere
a dervish burning
in the poem of your skin.

~

New year’s morn…
your breath on my lips
a rain of dew burning
with the liquid light of love

~

Wine and poetry
for new year’s eve,
her voice in my chest
a river of fire and ice,
her hand in my mind
with ruthless grace seeding
all the coming suns.

~

Old year, new year,
in the glow of your sun
it all rises, it all sets.

~

What is longing? –
her lips below audible
sighed in the wind,
as her heart
before her leapt
and went spanning
the endless distances,
through the grass
gliding silently
and shuddering, burning,
following a thread
weaved with fingers
older than time.