how do you, while I sleep,
grow stars with your words...
and fill an indigo night with
the scent of forest light and
sounds I've never heard.

how do you leave your
little kisses upon my
cheek while I am asleep...
they are there, when I awake,
and I know you have been here.
do I dream so deep?

how do you fill me
with a thousand dreams
when I have a thousand
of my own, and they entangle,
and become the hunger
I feel in the midnight hour, alone.

how do you, when I close
my eyes, just before bed,
fill them with images
of my finding the first love...
and the awkward steps I take
as I approach you, flushed
with the color of a rosy red.

how do you, as I write, grasp
my pen and draw forth words
that have never before been,
that in their newness, their
neonatal state, already blossom
in the sky when the hour is late.

how do you, as I sit here
so far away, yet still I feel you,
body and soul pressed up close to mine,
and the warmth becomes complete...
and brings me into the arms
of the one that I have known inside
me now for the length of forever.

Music came before people because
the wind came before people.

The wind plays with the leaves on the trees
and makes music. One tree rubbing against
another. Bark chafes bark, twigs flicking and
tapping their neighbors, boughs and branches
squawk and creak, a groan comes from the
ground as roots take the strain of gusts that
tug the trunks to bend and sway, swishing
and booming like the ocean swell against a
shore.

Trees and wind make most wonderful windy
woody music.

Long before the human species came
wandering down this path, birds chirped
and tinkled, crickets and grasshoppers chipped,
and sharp squalls of rain fizzed and hissed
upon the stones and upon the water.

The croaking of the frogs in my pond
resonates back to times before the dinosaurs;
millions, millions, millions, millions of frog
generations have maintained that choir.

The fruity voices of the finch and lapwing
and the grunt of a raven; wild duck feeding
at night, busy with courtship on moonlit
water, cackling like mad goblins.

Listen.

The soft mournful sigh of wind sweeping
reeds and rushes; the lush whispering of
conifers in a breeze; the crackle of broom
exploding its seed pods on a hot fiery
summer day ; the innumerable voices of a
stream. There is meaning in this music.

Even rocks and grass sing lullabies just for
us, if we are quiet enough to hear.

In you is a song.
Sing to me...
there is only one of you,
and one of me...

and everything we know is worth knowing.

in words always too brief
are the short passages of time,
that once together linked
have brought me to a path that
calls me to continue towards you.

I do not know how to turn back now....
I remember all there is to remember.
yet then,
I think of the times love has frightened me,

the way it turned my mind upside down,
inside out, and left me helpless, naked
in it's storm, no where to seek comfort
from it's foreboding clouds, and the rain
hit my body with such force it left hollow
scars upon the skin, all the way in and
through the heart, drenched in it's fear
and emptiness.

there was no where to go to escape it.
it grew and grew like a weed, crowding
out all the flowers that had once been.

yes, I remember them, those moments,
they are like the death of love's dancing,
and you think of all the things that you
have done, and said...or wanted to say...

and never did,
and the day,
and the night,
are endless.

and you fear to breathe,
that just one more breath
will bring disaster.
and there is no where to go,
nowhere to escape it.

yes, I remember.
and now you sigh...

is this the dream?

oh how I love your sigh,
it enters me by way of love,
and a part of it stays in my
heart and a part of it slides
down my body and hardens me
with lust...never to forget
our bodies entwined, and the
sound of passion that consumed
all my senses...
I will never forget.

and now it is so much more
that these brief passages
carry with me...the infinite,
the eternity of who we are,
together...separate...polarized,
linked in a universe as vast as time,
as quick as lightning.

I say now I must see you again,
it seems to be written somewhere...
that the exploration is incomplete,
that the want, even a need, is homeless
until we once again come together,

as lovers...
spirit passing through spirit,
love touching love, words that breathe
across a cheek and evaporate into
the stillness of being, a vapor of song.

The notion of romance,
at once a tender dream
though now fleeting with time,
has found absence with age.

I am prone now to sing to listening winds
that have no desire for such things
that wound and scar heart and flesh
with their leavings...taking pieces
of precious and bleeding hope.

I wander in my own footprints.
I lay my head upon my own pillow,
knowing it is free of tears and I seek only
sleep now, on long and quiet nights.

But oh, you mysterious lover,
with gentlest of heart,
you tempt even the heavens...

skin does glow ever so burning.

In paleness of moon, I am drawn,
as light seeks to enter (as tendrils)
the overlapping shadows of desire.

I write upon the back of my mind
what it might feel
to drape my arms around the soft of you.

Wrap me within your torment,
torture me with the ecstasy
of your feminine design...

take this traveler of spirit and flesh
to the heart of heaven,
and give to the universe an eternal moment...

but let me sleep on long and quiet nights.