Living the Dream

My love came up out of water, moving
like mist that weaves low to the ground
to weave silently up the cliffs, kissing
the tips of brush cut grass as it wanders
with one purpose in mind:  to leave its ghost
deep in the garden as evidence of that love.

My love came from the ground, pale
in its confinement and wait to rise.
Brushing away the grit and grout,
it uncurled like a ballet dancer’s
swan-rising, open-armed gathering
of sunlight that will hold it through
until the next cracked smile of daylight.

My love is a fire, doused, smoldering
against a hard dark bed of drowned sorrow.
It waits, glowing and inviting, tempting,
teasing, to draw me near enough
to add more stiff sticks of belief
that things can appear done and yet, flare again.

My love is wind that rattles cattails,
that sighs through the treetops, that carries
sounds of the sweetest voice through nodding
blossoms in the garden who agree
with visitations that leave the garden
dancing in the dark and dithering in the day.

My love leaves me glittering with its mark,
making midnight moves that will leave green
promises reaching out to hold beauty.
It is a flare in deep night in need of warming
and the sounds of solace sifting on a breeze
that he is coming, however he comes, he comes.

Tags: Poems //