A river of love flows
out of my heart
non-stop. And another out of yours.
Our torrential flood
flows into the frail human desert
surrounding us,
willing to sustain life in abundance and
the thirst for keeps.
Yet here is sand,
And elusive aboriginal arts aside,
I see no silk and spice in caravan,
no oasis, beyond the slippery banks
of this lonely violent flood.
February 9, 1999
Thursday, June 18, 2015
Seventh Wave
Stunned, not swept off my feet,
my feeling, inadequate,
somehow absorbs the love that comes
to break, warm, around and then within me.
It is not a constant, burning heat,
not lapping sweet nor massive crest tsunami.
But like the rhythm of the seventh wave,
almost inevitable, it breaks and, more than expectation,
more than passing, overwhelms.
1/1/2014
my feeling, inadequate,
somehow absorbs the love that comes
to break, warm, around and then within me.
It is not a constant, burning heat,
not lapping sweet nor massive crest tsunami.
But like the rhythm of the seventh wave,
almost inevitable, it breaks and, more than expectation,
more than passing, overwhelms.
1/1/2014
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