She opened like a flower,
Soft, moist,
Glistening in candle light,
Scented
Delicate, like sea spray, or
Mornings
In the garden, with roses,
Dewdrops
On their delicate petals,
Petals,
Filled with anticipation
Of love.
Oh, love,
Let me never drink a wine
Sweeter
Than that, now upon my tongue,
Or hold
A prize, greater than that in
My arms,
Or know more joy, than to have
My lips,
Gently kissing this flower.

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine

It should have rained today,
But it was bright and windy,
With white clouds climbing
Over the mountains,
Like flocks of sheep.
I made believe I was the shepherd,
Chasing after my cloud-sheep,
Sitting on mountain tops,
Playing my flute,
A song that would make you
Smile.
But you weren’t there,
And the wind
Blew the sheep away,
And it really should have
Rained today.

Your life is like a paisley scarf,
Filled with twisted teardrops,
Big and little, colored like a garden,
Blowing in the breeze.
Watching it tips my balance,
But I can’t, not watch.

So drawn to the whirlpool
Of colors and sounds that generate
All around you,
I’m like a leaf in a wind storm.
One moment dry and brittle from the
Rarified edges of the storm,
Then pulled in close,
And filled with the moist heat
Flowing from your passion,
I’m made whole and fresh again.

I want to reach out, pull myself in,
And bathe in the essence,
Emanating from the center of
Your life, then toss back my head
And learn to fly.
I want to smell, and taste, each flower
That grows from your garden,
Like a bee in the springtime.

I want to be wrapped in that paisley scarf,
And tucked into a drawer,
Right next to the things you wear
Closest to your skin,
To lie luxuriously bathed in your scent,
And I want you to think about me,
When those garments catch, and hold,
The warmth of your body.

I want to wear you like a cloak,
And watch your swirling colors
As I dance across time, and space,
Showering you with pearls,
And laughter, plucking fruit
From the mountaintops,
Feeding you with my lips.

I could spend a lifetime
Counting your colors,
Kissing your flowers,
Swirling in the vortex of
Your passion,
But instead, I watch, and wait,
Until the storm whips that scarf
Close enough for me to
Reach out and take hold.

I know you’re in there,
Hiding behind my eyes,
Filling the hollows in my head,
Making me wonder
Just who decided that I needed
More love.

Show yourself,
It’s okay,
I know you’re in there.

It’s not like I haven’t lived
With somebody else’s hands
Working the sheets,
Tacking back and forth,
Down the channel,
Trying to miss the stink *** drivers
Who can’t see passed the beer cans
In their fat, sweaty, hands.

Oh, I’ve sat at the helm,
Listening to the tactician whisper,
“Stand on, stand on, ready to come about.”
Waiting for the shout,
“Hard a’lea.”
Cutting over ‘til the compass reads
North by northwest,
Then standing on,
Standing on.


But this is different.
The whispers didn’t have a voice,
Just a presence behind my eyes,
And the call to tack came before
I was ready.
But I turned the helm,
And the sails swung to port.

There,
Sitting on the rocks,
Singing their silent, beckoning songs,
Their blue-green eyes
Flashing behind the tendrils of their
Foam, blonde hair,
Sat the Sirens of my life,
Smiling their bow-lipped, ruby smiles,
Laughing because they know
There’s no way in hell
That I won’t run a course
Straight into their laps.

You must think it’s funny,
Watching this,
Laughing at how a sailor can’t
Tell the difference between a siren’s lap,
And the Fiddler’s Green,
Laughing at me,
Behind my eyes,
Tempting me with
More love.

I love my little garden, Lord
Which you have given to me
I thank you for this haven
Where you can set me free

I pray each night to give me strength
To sow more wondrous seed
And for you to bless the pretty birds
Who fly right in to feed

I bless you for my sight and smell
To enjoy the flowers so
And all the bees and butterflies
Who gently come and go

So bless my little garden Lord
It gives me peace and joy
For I have prayed each night to you
Since I was just a boy

Keith Wilson
Windermere, UK 2016

I would not possess thee,
Nor let my self be bound,
Yet I shall love thee evermore,
‘Til worlds stop turning ‘round.
Songs of love I’d sing thee,
And flowers for your hair,
But words and wreathes can not begin,
Your beauty to compare.
Come, be still beside me,
While breezes sing their song,
Of butterflies, whose laughing flight,
Brings happiness, ‘ere long.
Let us find, at twilight,
A bed of mossy green,
And wrap ourselves, in starlight mists,
With just our love between.
While the fireflies glimmer,
Like echoes of our love,
We’ll let our spirits sail the waves,
On starlight seas above.
As the night o’ercomes thee,
Before the day is born,
I’ll pray that dreams of love will bring
Thee, to another morn.