I may need a stout rod
for the journey but
I can walk it on my own
because of the scent of your skin
because your eyes are the same
sea glass shade as your laugh
because you are here.
I expect certain considerations
a touch on the back
a brief clasping of hands
a kiss that has nothing to do
with a peck. An opening:
your mind into mine, an emptying:
your baggage, the polished suitcase
in which you carry your heart.
And then we fill each other gently
with secrets torn apart and shared
like bread. Spread like a net to keep us
each from falling into wilderness.
Know that I choose
You may expect me
to be more of a trellis
than a blade. More of
a rich dark vein and less—
not at all—of a potion mined
in the crevice where conceit
intersects with air. Forget the old
except for the parts that contain us.
I will keep in my heart for you
a small portrait, a mirror that shows
you standing in your finest pose.
We are too old for games of chance.
Some seeds don’t open
until fire and heat have brazed
the useless outer layers.
May the remainder of your weekend be poetic.
Don't forget that my friend Lydia is taking reservations for her next webinar. In the webinar I took, I learned so much about how to refine the design of my blog and how to use various analytics. And it was a lot of fun too. I blogged about it here.