Letter – 14 February 2012



Life is oppressively quiet without you. How I long to fold your arms over me, like wings hugging the sky, as we, but a single leaf, gently sway to the breezes most subtle of tunes…

Just that…



10 thoughts on “Letter – 14 February 2012

  1. Beloved,

    In this whole wide universe, our heads have but each other’s shoulders to rest on, each other’s hands to be welcomed by. In each other’s hands our soul is surrendered.

    Just that…

    • Beloved,
      I’ll give myself away to the sweet surrender of your arms. Call this surrender for what it is. The death of I. No longer separated from the whole, I wrap myself with the oaks mighty roots, bound to this earth and fashioning robes from autumn leaves. I die there, hanging by the cruelty of contentment… free, into that space of ethereal calm amidst the clamor of a busting world. Call it “love” call it “home”. Let the tears of honeyed jubilation watermark the moon for no longer do day and night exist as separate but as one long endless breath…

      • Hand In Hand


        The day before yesterday
        I walked under the shade
        Of the cypresses cast by
        A full moon, and I heard
        My footsteps, behind me
        Falling, somewhere in the far past,
        Echoing a forgotten, dead shimmer.

        Yesterday, walking between
        The pine trees while the moon
        Sang his nocturnal tune,
        I heard my footsteps falling
        Ahead of me, somewhere
        In the distant future,
        Glistening from flower-faces
        Not yet born.

        The day our fingers touched,
        And our hands into each other
        Fell, like ancient oak roots, clutched,
        I heard our footsteps,
        In unison and harmony falling,
        Here and now, below us, around us,
        Rooting us in the present.
        I felt our womb stirring,
        Drowning us in the ecstasy
        Of birth and I heard the
        Sweetest music of a sun and moon
        Making love, of a shepherd’s flute
        Covering the hills, of white wings
        Flapping, and of our hearts,
        Beating, the We that ever was,
        Is, and will be.

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