15 January 2011


A poem of waiting and wanting, late December 2010.

Everything can wait.


Yesterday, today, tomorrow,

Hope, fate, destiny,

The memory of your face.

Except one thing:

My appointment

With the

Love Divine.

It is the

Perfect wine

For every meal.

It knows the taste

Of the bitter thrill.

It is the sound

Of the birds

Who rip the night air.

It is.

The rich hours

We would spend

Growing pearls

In the oyster bed.

Sweet everything.

And nothing is

As it seems

In the midst

Of our naked thoughts

And dreams.

Oh the

Teeming buds

Of all the seeds

I will sow in your garden.

If you would like to

Oh how

I would love you

While I am

Always discovering

This beauty mine.

Do you want to

Fill this empty room?

And the gardener

Loved the tender fruits

Of the green

And named them each

A forgotten song.

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