Whispered words and stolen glances,
gloved hands clasp, fingers laced.
Hidden lines and hopeful chances -

In dim-lit parlors, a warm embrace.
Out of the shadows -
A flame.

Although they are
only breath, words
which I command
are immortal

When toward your eyes
my crooked heart
reaches
there comes a flow
of good and bad but
mostly good
and this in turn sets
a glorious blaze
upon the distant hills
all consuming, sending
forest beasts out
upon the plains where
further scatt'ring then
occurs
until all resettles itself again
the birds alight
and preen one another, the
squirrels come to rest
tiny underleaf mammals begin
to quiet themselves
and you breathe and i
breathe
and the warm surety
of us
comes over and
upon
it all

I have to get to the Moon, just to clean the bathroom
I'll give Mount Everest a nudge on my way back

Am I writing this poem
Because I have something to say?
Or because I feel the need
To get a certain amount of words
Down before I stop for the day?
I think it's a bit of both
Clawing my brain
To scratch it just right
For arbitrary rules
That wake me at night