The grains of sand flow like clouds,

as the air from her flying bare feet whispers by,

she drifts in half-circles on that child’s swing,

silhouetted in the night sky, arms stretching

into the shadows, shadows stretching into history.

I saw a beautiful green-eyed child,

all heart and love reaching from the soul

for a hand to embrace her,

for arms to surround her,

to contain her own strength.

I saw her grow painfully,

searching without,

for what comes,

only from within.

Throughout history,

I reached out a hand for her,

I longed to embrace her,

to surround her in love,

healing forces from my soul to hers,

but I could not do it,

save in my imagination.

I could not halt the flow of time,

despite my desire, it kept to its course,

like those flying grains of sand,

stirring to life in her wake,

as she swung by in the night.

From the shadows, that green-eyed child

whispered to me,

and I loved her, and will throughout time.

I will reach to embrace her,

surround her in healing arms;

soon she will contain her own strength,

silhouetted no more in shadows,

a woman all heart and love,

outlined by her own radiating light.

Days and nights melted into one,

as each in the other swam

away from shore, swept outward,

drifting into the blue, through

the waves, the swirling pools, past

the boats, the nets, into the open

sea, the depths under them, friendly,

welcoming, warm, days and

nights touching, caressing

melting into one.

She stood there wrapped in black,

shining forth in a rose glow,

so clear-eyed you could see stars in her,

bright prisms of light focused like diamonds.

She looks in a mirror,

inspects her hair,

checks for an imagined double-chin,

a non-existent millimeter of fat,

she seeks many illusory imperfections.

No doubt she would be happier without such scrutiny,

but she is a careful observer of a self

she sees in her most critical mind’s eye.

I sit and marvel at her,

at what she sees with such disfavor.

I would lend her my eyes,

but it is not herself she sees

reflected there, but a hologram of her fears.

From her clear, iridescent green eyes,

to her soft peach skin,

beauty shines from her,

swirls around her in contradictions.

She moves with a dancer’s grace,

yet sometimes falters with a little girl’s nerves.

She is formed with an athletic feminine sensuousness,

yet she mourns the lack of an anorexic frame.

She has a crystalline intelligence,

and a loving, tender heart,

but rough experience,

has given her a certain cynicism,

and the burden of occasional dark moods.

But she is not her moods,

nor her fears.

She is incandescent.

If she could look into the mirror of self,

without eyes or fears,

she would see the rose glow,

and the clarity of stars,

that shine forth in white light,

when she bursts into view.

"From an ancient scroll found in a Cave, the words of an unknown poet to his lover, translated into modern English."

Let us have no discord between us,

where love flourishes

none is required,

the self flows freely.

To need one's needs

and gently speak them,

is a song of beauty

ringing in the heart,

a sparkling rainbow

in the eyes of the lover.

Let us flourish, then,

with only souls between us,

fathomless distance, free-space,

yet none at all.

Linked by love, unafraid,

smiling into the face of life,

let us have only ease between us.

She dances through the wind, but no trace of distress

disturbs the surrounding air; it caresses her yet

does not contain her bright shapes as they collide,

embraced as if her movements were gentle watercolors

of some indefinable landscape, tenuously glimpsed

through the door to another world, passing through

our own, leaving traces of beauty;

but disturbing no fabric of this lower realm.

No silken thread, no earthly garment, can contain her

Essence as it moves through time, dancing,

Resplendent, she is not to be contained, pressed

And shaped to fit the will of any who would

Kill her dreams or bend her soul to ends not her own.

The dancer must be caressed as if by

the wind, her bright shapes undisturbed,

they flare brighter, her heart flows,

no trace of distress contains her love.

for Nigel

The restaurant bread

came

in a small wicker basket.

I half expected to see Baby Moses

nestled in amongst the loaves,

but there were only memories there

of a fresh-faced 12-year old boy,

with his parents, in fine restaurants,

in better days,

satisfied

with good food,

and even better parents.

Across the room, an older woman

with beauty-parlor hair,

lit up a cigarette.

I had blundered into

"no man’s land"

the

smoking section.

My mother used to smoke too,

in those days,

with impunity.

Well,

not entirely,

it did kill her.

My friend e-mailed me today,

his cat died,

though,

to the best of my knowledge,

he was a non-smoker.

Our friend, Jim, died

a week ago, tomorrow,

in his sleep,

in the afternoon.

He was a non-smoker too.

Where do all our friends go,

when they die?

In fact,

where do they go,

while they live?

Are they really there?

Do they talk to us? Do

we know their hearts?

Do we show

we care,

about them?

Make ourselves,

available----

transcend

silly

preoccupations?

Do we live,

while we live?

Or

just ask,

too many questions?

Well,

pass

the bread,

I’m glad

I believe

in

reincarnation.

We take refuge each in the other,

safely there enfolded,

where nothing may harm us,

no cruelty of man,

no prejudice of thought,

no base illusion may penetrate

the force that surrounds us,

that guards our hearts, our souls,

our energies as we seek our ancient union.

Storms may howl, discord may swirl,

but that which is part of the same

is safe within itself.

No force of fear, no barriers, no

haunting whispers of danger,

will survive the vortex, the refuge,

where wind and light are one.

Early Summer's first wind drifted through her hair

like strands of light bringing illumination

to my heart; bringing beauty where there was care,

bringing airy warmth to heavy rumination,

bringing thoughts of beauty to that terrain

nurtured silently within my breast.

I kept counsel with that wind through pleasure and pain,

knowing that silence, for now, would be best.

And finally, when this passion I did confess,

I learned that it lit my life alone;

for her it meant far, far, less.

Strangely, the light within me still shone,

and though Autumn now braces my hair,

her beauty is still as gentle, still as fair.

Time and the illusion of time will pass

before I again look on my love's countenance

in the warmth of the Florida noon sun,

before I see her light blue eyes sparkle golden,

smell her peach-fresh skin, and swim in her,

waves cascading like a howling typhoon surge.

But time's illusion is neither enemy nor worthy opponent.

Can the soul's tender timelessness be affected

by seasons, or miles, or age, or any man-made distraction?

I think not. For what is real is not bound to earth,

but flows from realms outside our narrow view.

As we sit apart, so we draw together, part of the same.

Truth stands alone, no illusion stands above,

or can stand between, a timeless tender love.

Stalking the shore, a wave foams

and kisses the sand. The white tiger,

sublime, vigilant, stalks while she roams

her domain, hungry, strangely bright with vigor.

Along the shore she muses over shells

and plays with small birds and sea-creatures

so gently the sand is undisturbed, the wind dwells,

dancing across her white fur; sun highlighted features,

overtures of the afternoon, flash against the leaves,

undulating among the dunes and sea, always the sea.

Roaming alone, she seems fierce, fiery, untamed. Who perceives

innocence in her tears and understands her frightful desire to be free?

A small bird perches on her shoulder, companion for a time,

not her prey. She stalks only her shadow, she stalks the sublime.

The yellow fuzz

of the tennis balls

dances on end

like

the frightened hair

of "nigger" Farina

in

an old "Our Gang", comedy.

I’m afraid too,

but prefer the music to the dance.

The tanned

and

veiny legs

of

Middle Aged Miami Beach Matrons

tense

and

strain

as they bend their frames

and pound

the little yellow balls.

They are afraid,

but prefer the dance to the music.

Love----fifteen, love- thirty, love-forty, Game.

The mating call

of

this regal court.

The points are

recorded

the day’s

"pas de deux"

counted.

The

Ladies of the Nets

take

their choreography away

and

I take

my music.

Recorded

while the waves of Biscayne Bay suck at the shore,

and lap at the nippled cement walls.

the beauty of things entered my soul,

while my sweet love continued her battles,

her resilient will, the logic of her heart

struggling toward freedom from dark cynicism,

from earthly experience.

I sent her thoughts of love across the miles,

I basked in images of her golden beauty.

I reached for her in my soul,

saw the fine threads of her essence pulsating,

I entered her light, her struggle, her fine-laced beauty,

her ineffable being---I lay basking in the light.

"I loaf and invite my soul", wrote Whitman.

But my soul invites me, as I invite her,

embraced,

engulfed in the sumptuous logic of the heart.

In beauty beyond beauty,

beyond light,

beyond freedom.

Beyond everything.

We met in the cave,

but she was always in the light,

she may not have known it,

but it was clear as the bright noon sun.

Abandoning her chains,

she walked from that cave naked;

and her light blocked out the sun.

She was present at her own birth,

she took flight without wings,

and soared high above the earth,

slowly, she began to know her natural element;

The chains of the cave lay broken in the shadows,

rotting, their dull metal barely reflecting

the dim light she once took for the sun.

Overhead, she floats on the wind,

borne aloft by the birth of her freedom,

the currents of her heart lighter than wings.

We met in the cave,

but joined hearts in the air,

took flight together,

and returned to earth, no more.

Only for beauty, wisdom, friendship true to love.

Rich with knowledge of her, she

Is my transcendent love, my true friend,

And love glows bright and sweet within her.

No painful legacy can dim that light.

Does truth cease its ceaseless

Resilient climb to flaming beauty?

Only time’s release and care’s warm resonance

Brought unbounded, one heart to another

Can feed that flame and be unconsumed.

Why is this?

Can I will her to bid it welcome,

Let go, drift in the currents

Of love’s buoyant ultimate acceptance?

Immersed in the deathless eternal radiance,

Her true self revealed, there is

No barrier that can hide what she deserves.

She floats, embraced in love,

Her heart free, her love unbounded;

Flaming forth unconsumed,

Beyond illusion, beyond pain,

Beyond fear, beyond doubt…..

She is ever bright, ever golden.

we’ll be together soon,

and yet I think of her beyond millennia,

feel about her beyond millions.

No finite time could be enough to explore

the ceaseless joy of loving her.

Have we always been together?

She is love beyond time,

she is the renewing luminescence.

Why?

There is no answer except in what she is.

A soul so tender the wind cries,

a soul whose brightness the stars envy,

a soul so caring and wondrous in curiosity,

the philosophers smile.

So ask not why, but how could I not?

Not love her with all the dimension,

all the care, all the sweetness my soul can exude.

Her fair aspect is an aspect of the greater love itself,

and so it draws love to itself,

love beyond time, love beyond love,

love beyond fear, love beyond pain,

love beyond all that is beyond.

That is why, and that is how,

but that is not, and never will be,

All.

I come to her on wings of air,

heart aloft, head puncturing the clouds,

swimming in the currents openly;

crescendos of wind, music echoing,

the reverberations bearing me ever forward.

From on high I fly toward the light,

drawn to its illumination,

its essence animates my flight.

Sometimes as I approach,

it grows dim, withdrawing into itself,

shielding its rays from the brushing of air

from beating wings----

as if its incandescence could be consumed

in the backwash of flight.

But it cannot be contained in the wind of flight,

nor can any backwash consume it.

It is the essence of flight, the creator of clouds,

it bursts forth in swirling crescendos,

it is the vortex of wind,

The companion of flight.

Goodnight My sweet darling,

May the forces of love

Embrace you as you sleep,

And guard your sweet soul,

Kiss away any fear,

Lift your burdens and

Fill you with sweet sparking light.

In wonder my heart is full;

In contemplation of your sweet being

I reach for you in my thoughts,

Thoughts that kiss you from head to foot,

 Envelop all your facets,

Love you completely---

Deeply in every cell, every molecule,

Every atom, every frequency of your

Ancient resonant energy,

Untied in joyful clarity,

We are part of the same.

You are my love beyond love,

My blessed connection----

Rest your sweet soul on

Cascades of love,

Immerse your being in golden light.

Throughout time and change and illusion,

I will love you the more.