The Mystery of Your Ways

By the jasmine tree,
under the moon at dawn
I am waiting for you,
your silence since long
arrived before you
but only now
have I begun to hear
the whisper of your voice,
your silence since long
announced your presence
but only now
am I beginning to feel
the freshness of your breath,
and as I walk away at last,
as I walk away
into the rising day
a strange power carries me on
almost like a wave,
imperceptible, unexplainable,
asking me to let go,
to trust and surrender
to the mystery of your ways.

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Free Verse # 415 (in the layers of poetry)

Her body is the place I come to when I long to remember, when I long to forget. Her body is the image at its fountainhead — the soul embodied.

~

The image of her hands
comes at night,
the burning wings
of a fluttering moth,
a candle’s breath
dreaming.

~

Sedimented
in the layers of poetry
the moonlight that once shun
on the shore as we kissed,
the frail scent of a basil
kissing your cheek at dawn.

~

Lovemaking is not unlike breadmaking, and when the bread rises there you have it.

~

The death
growing inside of me
shall one day blossom
and waft me like a sigh
over the sea of eternity

~

A te toucher je frissonne
comme les débuts du printemps,
comme un feu qui prend souffle
de l’intime corps de l’amour.

~

Silence descends
like a spring-shower;
in the openness I listen
to the voice of the One.

~

I’m disappearing in you again
like the tolling sound of a bell
in the fog of memories

~

Autumn night reading…
the birdsongs I follow
through the branches of words
always somehow lead
to a clearing in the forest
where I am one with you

Free Verse # 414 (listening intently)

One day
at the rising of the dawn
I will listen to the prayer
God planted in my heart
before I was born

~

Full of my own self
I await your touch
to break me open
into a more, a beyond,
an uncontainable fountain
of overflowing love,
a hymn flowing
into the depth of the sky.

~

Besieged by the luminous hover
of the cloud of loneliness,
I long to know the warmth
of one human heart,
to feel its presence
breathing in my life.

~

An old man
in a young man’s body
watching life painting
with the brush of death.

~

My heart is a wounded place
that wounded birds seek
to pass through its fissures
and die into the sky

~

In the light of dawn
your voice comes
on wings of light
on wings of memory
and your breath
weaves the stillness
into a crown of poetry

~

Listening intently to the music interweaving the waters of their souls.

Lovers Listening
Unknown Artist, Somewhere in France