gentles down
and stillness rises like a
soft hymn
from a ground laid with
long fence shadows
like lattice
under red bud canopy.
How is it that time stops,
minutes no longer meted out?
Heartbeat slows to deepest calm
leaving space for ancient breath, for
here, creation deemed
perfection, and
in a vast moment of
homeostasis
I understand
the wanderer is home.
Once long ago
in the days before the flood
we stayed the hours to watch the moon
rise giddy on the hillside,
though I am not really sure
that it was us.
We sat atop the fragrant mound,
the fireflies a magic show
I took your shirt from you that night
buried my face into the flannel,
took your picture with my mind.
We loved each other then.
Decades on salvation blooms
from scented air, from shadows playing
on the mountains,
the old hauntings still alive and
no one would understand why I
fell so hard, not once but
twice; perhaps it was
those long twilights.
No comments:
Post a Comment