Pebbles at seaside, jostled by surf
set down with care, to rest on earth.
White spume covers an infinite field
a gossamer shroud o'er beauties yield.
Stillness between us, the heaven and earth
fog hangs low, her right by birth.
And yet hills break, great green shields
and precede sharp mountains, the pantheons bield.
I wait in the aspen grove,
I hope you'll find me there.
That clearing where we found the trove,
Where I first stroked your golden hair.
Youre still waiting in my mind,
I hope I wait in yours.
Like fruit protected by the rind,
Like oceans meet the shores.
Three days we spent rustling like leaves,
Three days our hearts were still as trees.
Three days I will wait here for you,
After then we must begin anew.
If there could be eternal youth,
like unending day.
All the flowers of holy truth,
would only seek the shade.
If there could be eternal love,
like primordial fire.
All the stars that burn above,
would only seek the pyre.
Still I'd see the flowers wilt,
i'd see the stars wink out.
If I could see our house rebuilt,
our ancient garden sprout.
A house illuminated, and no imperfection bared
unfinished, well used, improperly repaired.
Shabby when I find it, with unkempt yard
grasshoppers flitting among broken bottle shards.
Crooked door, bubbled windows make a wise old grin
crumbling steps, sunken porch through all time inviting in.
The floors creak soft sighs, sending up dust motes
a record of past lives, passed down in quiet notes.
The sun rests here on shoddy tables, dusty bookshelves, broken chairs
A house illuminated, and no imperfection bared.
— The End —