I've not heard your voice,
though your written words
vibrate my central chord.

I know not the color of your hair,
nor seen it drape my pillow,
though I'd love to see it there

My grandparents once owned the Lincoln Inn,
in a junction called Essex,
A big old Vermont village house,
that's as much as I can remember,
but on a shelf
in my house
next to where the morning sun glints in
are a few cranberry tumblers
from that hotel
that catch the morning light
and burst out in a flash of red.

Of late,
when I let
my thoughts
free reign to pasture,
they find you
beyond the orchard
where the creek bends,
before it makes a great leap.

You're in this scene,
a couple sit opposite each other,
in a restaurant,
at a window table.
On the street,
I walk by and see myself with you,
and I'm caught off guard by the reflection.
We are amiably chatting,
laughing, smiling.
You are radiant
and I, more handsome than I remembered.

I have walked where
five thousand men died
on a single street before dusk,
all in the cause and behest of leaders
they were too low to ever meet.
And those leading men dined well that night
with fine wine & port and femme escorts
planning the next day's self retreats.

Some leading edge physicists
opine that there are more dimensions
than time and space.
What it were true,
And love was one of those
hidden from view worlds,
and when one felt love,
real mature unselfish love,
it was but a key
to open a vast universe
that poets from the beginning of time
have struggled so hard to tell?

Dear Lord,
Wherever you reside,
I pray this night
that you will assist
in the creation of a new religion.
The existing ones no longer fit.

I pray for your assistance
for a new tentless religion,
that retains all the old choir music,
but goes real light on all the past *******.