Upon reflection, it is always so
The brightest lights die out first.
But thankful for memories of intensity
I'll never forget, the timbre of the summers afternoon
That I first lay with you.
How the hum of a lawnmower
Playing out across static calm
Captured the infinite space between
Like a blood-drunk mosquito, detained in amber
All sense of ourselves was overwhelmed in sensuality.
When I dream again, I drown in those dissipated glimpses
Dead days that break over me, in vague fragments
Seem less real than this memory.
It remains held there, beyond the reach of time
Shining up above, like a pure moon
To look back upon, and in obscure unguarded moments
Reawaken to the strange bygone strains of an afternoon in summer.
Or as you may happen to remember it, a placid evening in late spring.

I lie with you and with our memories
Playing like butterflies in soft wavering light
As a taut melody, from mornings coming song
Broods against the restless horizon.
From the first bloom of light
You embodied, certain fictions in my mind
As you compressed, your hopeful dreams within mine.
Buttressed, we thought, to withstand the appetite of time.
Yet we’re so easily winnowed from the past,
We are not now capable of locating our dreams,
Pallidly flickering beneath the constant stars.
Enchantment is fleeting, yet its memory is potent,
And I confess, my love, for a long time
I became stuck down in that cave,
Looking back out over burnished days.
“Be careful you don’t become lost there”
Yet I pressed on, until your voice became thin.

Orpheus had to look back, but he returned to the world.
As night passes on into triumphant morning,
We too have come back, but a shade remains
The shadow that turns, looks back, and listens.
Lyrics change, but the tone remains constant
True meaning lays beyond language
As time weights the scales, they're removed from our eyes.
Rhythm is established in waves breaking over us
Grey overlays gold, but its never subsumed
Your hair shimmers, in the quiet light of the ruins
The aureate thread that led us home.
For we are still here on this morning, the eternal morning
Where love sings all things to itself, across time.

Angry faces wish for sun
As they scurry through the rain
But stop to listen to the constant thrum
And you may hear your origin.