Saturday, June 19


The quieting touch of another's heart,
The distant sound of snowflakes falling,
woodsmoke, scenting, filling the room
Knowing love is coming, soon...

Candle-glow, leaping serenely on the mantle,
singing, softly, sighing its life away,
flurries past the pane, warning
I ask for yet another morning...

I long of things I barely touch
so new, so fresh, so simply beautiful,
It might as well be across the sky
It's not free, nor am I...

A look, a glance, says more to me,
We read so much into such moments,
Than, perhaps, they return to us in kind,
But, then, who can ever know my mind...

Like a bird on wing, I rush,
Hoping for more than I think I can have
I cannot stop the wind, my friend
It was here before we were sent

...just some old stuff, I found crumpled up, in a book.

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