September 10th, 2010

Gently, Down the Stream

I found you in this circle of myself
which is singing Row-row-row your boat
in a round, because the parts of me
that seem to end, forever begin in you
and life is bud-ah dream in your gyspy soul


* * *

Mirror on the Morning Sea

Soft drifting, the small craft rocks
in a Hemingway dream so imagined
placid you, mirror on the morning sea
delicate ripples rattling oarlocks
this quiet, willing boat slips alee

The incredible purple-orange burns
an entry into the feathered mist now
peeled enamel, wood weathered gray
the touch of the heart as it yearns
currents wash, knowing what to say