Freeze This Moment

We were sitting on a hillside
Staring at the skies
The sun was dipping lower
I looked into your eyes
You saw what I was feeling
I know you felt it too
We wanted time to just stand still
Then forever there'd be me and you
Why can't we freeze this moment?
Return to it in time?
Stay together through the years
Proclaim I'm yours and you are mine?
So let us freeze this moment
Store it safely away
Even if we leave this place
We'll return to it someday

A First Kiss

Got a kiss from a pretty girl!
It lingers on my lips.
It caught me off guard
But not by surprise,
It came as much from her mouth
As from her eyes.

A Meager Life

Rain on my roof
Drowns the ocean,
And obfuscates the vision
Of my dreams.

Oatmeal and tea,
Poetry and prose,
Grace and love
My comforts.

It is enough,
You know;
A meager and
Beleaguered life.

Untitled Memory #1

The hasty kiss of youth impatient,
Like the cold north winds' blow,
Leaves want of summers' breeze,
Of lingering warmth in soul.

Natural Forces

I have felt the pull of the moon
Bearing against my body
As it draws the ocean
With a force irresistible.

I know the weight of water in a stream
Pressing relentlessly in its course,
Carving through rock and reducing
Stone to pebble to sand to silt.

I have dreamt dreams of falling,
Fearlessly, from heights unknown,
Rushing to some eternal abyss
With the speed of light.

Such forces as define physics
And nature and dreams
Are all eclipsed by this -
That power called love.

Untitled Memory #2

Your whole body holds a goblet
Of gentle sweetness destined for me.
When I let my hands climb
In each place I find a dove
That was looking for me, as if
My love, He had made you of clay
For my very own potters hands.

Your knees, your breasts, your waist
Are missing in me, like in the hollow
Of a thirsting earth,
Where they relinquish a form,
And together we are complete
Like one single river,
Like a single grain of sand.

In Third Person

He was that carpenter,
the one who walked behind the coffin
dry-eyed;
He never had made a name for himself.
And then his feet no longer moved,
because, poor and tired, he had died.

Already, other feet walked in his footsteps,
those other feet still him,
those other hands his as well.
But yet, he persisted
when it seemed he must be spent.
He was the same man again,
he was once again different and the same.

Only when that broken man was able
did he come back to life,
remaining unnoticed.
He was that man allright,
and he no longer stood out
from the others,
others who were himself.

He gave away his existence,
that was all.
He had never been contained
in a song,
or by his mortal form.
He went somewhere else to work,
and ultimately he went toward death
until he existed only
in what he left behind;
tree-lined boulevards
he would not be aware of,
wooden homes he would not inhabit again.

And I come back to see him,
and every day I wait.
I still see him,
in his coffin and resurrected.
I pick him out from all the others
who are no less his equals.

And it seems to me
that this cannot be,
that this way leads us somewhere,
that to continue is recovery.
I believe that heaven
must emcompass this man
living happy, joyous and free.