Garça

sky ablaze
in gorgeous cool calm,
i slip
into a reverie
of what could
be.
Perhaps indeed,
of what will
be.


and Heron,
wings bowed and heavy with destiny,
calls down to me,
screeching uglily
and
defiant,
racing towards that future dream.


and i follow,
eager
to taste this new reality.

Lift

gentled and hungry and hopeful
eyes reach
up
to touch
the cold
dark wonder of the night.


a soul
unfettered, lifts
up on the wisps of
a falling star.


and now
a miracle erupts
like a smile unexpected,
and
we begin,
you and I,
to play once again,
warmed
by our starfire.

yearning

silence
lifts soberly through this long dark night.


the quiet within
crescendos with loss.


yet,
in this mad symphony,
a fugue of hope draws close:

a slip of wind here,
tugs tight at the door-
a sprat of rain there,
slaps gentle to the ground.



Dear Tempest, I see you, so
do come quick,
and howl away this calm
with fury
& audacity, and
what needs yet be done.

shelter

a flame
fumbles for purchase
amidst this wild tumultuous
rush of desire,
yet calms
these quivering lips,
so damp with expectation.


what
danger leads you back into these arms?


what
pleasures shall we feast upon?


how
long till fear sends you running hence,
like it did before?





I care not for answers,
nor for fire
nor rain.



I need not know from whence,
or why you came.




I need only to know
the freedom found
in giving once again.




So give it here...
and then let's do it again.
let's give it like we used to,
slipping through time without end.