Let us write a poem about love.
Can we be holy?
When we love - do we become holy?
Well yes - and absolutely -
when we love all.
Something softened me.
Too many yesterdays,
all those invisible tomorrows.
I look for their footprints
in snows not yet fallen.
a brown cabin -
wintered up - ready for
bedtime Westerns,
mexican standoffs -
sleep
and perfectly empty
Pile in with me, where it is warm.
A marvel! How your hands rest, your perfume Ivory soap,
the shiny skin of your pimpled back,
a glaze of hair on your forearm. Designed by heaven
to be put behind my neck.
I am not made of sparks -
I am made of soft slow fires and
sunsets.