The full moon and mourning dove
I don’t know why
both remind me of you
I’m sorry my love
these images of mystery and sorrow
the loneliness they evoke
appeal to me
appeal to me as you do so very distant and unknowable
I believe that is what you wanted
to be a mystery
and so you are
Set before me, a road;
a winding path among the weeping willow and strong hickory.
Give me a journey.
I long to see the breeze cause the grass to move like waves of water;
Green, white and green again,
Then wrap around my legs in cool encouragement.
Lend me the courage that puts down my fear of stepping forward.
Instill in me the desire to see what happens and dare to call it an adventure.
You who never ends,
You who never disappoint,
You who give the strength to face the task
Provides the peace upon the path.
Eroticism is such a bore
Though the young set and the young at heart would demure
I’m sure
Okay, that last line was a cheat, but it made me smile
I’m sorry we failed to meet on common ground
I would have loved to hear your voice
ask about the weather
wonder how my parents faired during winter
laughter, yes I would have loved to hear you laugh
I’m old fashioned
I believe in hello, how are you
before I love you, but I somehow doubt it would have even come to that
Picture this if it’s that damn hard for you.
A man stands upon a lifeboat
The icy freshwater waves soar in sharp shards
The sound of the November wind drowns sound
The wooden hull with life’s goods crushes before you
Look about once–just once,
the lowering storm clouds, no land in sight
And if you have an ounce of imagination outside of your
Self-gratifying, sensualism feel the freezing cold
Make your grave here and drown without Reason.
Or make for the lifeboat and stand your ground on
The shore of life
My brother, you have powerful argument,
You have good points, let us bring those to the ear of One
Who listens without patronizing
Come now.
Now.
Maudlin music and anything less than red linen made for soft people she felt; yes felt, which was beyond knew and just before faith.
In oneself.
Her red, the blackish kind, hung in curtains and blocked out the sunlight opening only to rainy days. Contentment blocked the wants of the world.
The world bloomed red in small startling places and she searched for the sear and pucker of the color in the dead of winter.
This proved effective in drawing her attention away from the doggish way he looked upon her. He had a spaniel she liked and wished was hers.
But he wasn’t hers (the spaniel) the spaniel was his, but she ignored that fact.
Well sheltered within the stonewalled cottages described as farmhouses and which stood as manor houses they lived their lives.
The walls encompassed them and there they searched for red and a chance; she in hers him in his.
The spaniel was immortal and sighed often.
Magicians, outlawed and not allowed through the gates, directed witches to fly over their stone dwellings spelling out smokey threats over the sky.
The breeze, constant and often stiff did away with their threats by sunset so the lack of fear thwarted any sense of time and the idea of rushing headlong into passion.
What could an immortal spaniel do but sigh?
He (not the spaniel but the man who could waltz perfectly) thought of tempting fate with this or that bauble of love but without the magicians and witches no ruby red stone could be obtained to move her.
In this stonewalled place he only had his merit and his face. He was determined to surprise her with a perfect waltz later.
A curt nod only she gave him when they met upon the cobbled street. She, always with her eye on the corner of a stone building looking for red and wishing the dog was hers instead of his.
What could he do? Learn to dye the world red?
Understand her? No, that’s when love fled.
Then one autumn’s day their eyes met over the scarlet rose of fall. Embolden he walked to a stranger’s garden gate and bent his head to smell the flower and block her gaze.
He turned to see her staring out upon the horizon.
“Stay,” he said, “and the dog will dance until you see the famous scarlet sunset.”
The dog appealed to her, twitching red orange sparks around his silky long ears.
She petted the dog and watched the sun heat the earth which caused the wind that brought the clouds all pink and red.
Clasping her waist he whirled her round, and the dog barked and gamboled about their feet.
And they built a stone terrace that connected their stone houses and invited the neighbors to watch the sunset pink and blue and green and silhouetted spaniel dogs and autumn’s roses red.
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