You are the white fence
the blown horn
the fiercest fight
a green pasture at dawn
you are the creek smell ...moss and black-brown peat
glint of light off the trash barrel that blinds the evil driver who hits the breaks but still
stopped the clock
It WAS YOU who tore down the walls of Jericho
you are the ticking
the infinite unrelenting ticking of the clock of times-will you never stop?
no matter how I hold one to another minute
trying to live in them
or turn away from pain by grasping them
you move on
Could I turn ever into your arms to embrace the atoms ...Adam of time?
water flowing off the edge of the rock
suspended in air
a cylinder ...the perfect drop....held in time ...am I
the clutter of leaves and muck that blocks the way...
you are this as well
You... my sunlight!
you... my deepest well of darkest oxygen and "Bring us hope!"
water
You ....my hero
my hand in the dark
blackholed across the quasar-ed seas of space and time!
you the paltry lightning in the storm
combined are we unto birth in torrential rain...
you
my single perfect....timeless transformed petal
on rose: "What is in a name?!"
the first crocus -you!
the first steps on the new path
beneath willow
and within wine
Best of all you are the silence in the snow fort
...stay still now
and just listen
standing in the middle of a night while snow is falling
you are the light at the end
and in the farmhouse far across the field
you are warm fur on tiny boned body
breath of a baby near my ear
you are smoky mornings along the Nile
and the river Thames
the Cape Canal at dawn
Oh the wilk and want of it all!!!
if I should bare your name up to the sky
let loose the sounds of your name...let them fall from my lonely tongue
what if I speak them in another language..does that still count?
How did we get here to this our channel?
Loom of the weave ...I ask you!
the next step
the next choice ...what to do now?
wrap a gift in the light that shines from the sky
toast with water from the stream
walk the haunted hills
the graveyards...where breezes blow differently
from sigh to sigh
the children are falling like leaves from the trees
so sick is our beautiful mother tree
the politics of the day blow the mind and the economy loves it..what better
note of evil than this?...the money loves him!
yet money is not love
The tree is our love
and but few a dime between us has ever passed
but she is weak
with too much silencing
and far too little love
