Eclectic songs from foreign lands, spiritual and wild
Are his voice,
And he is nature and attention with behavior as the river flows,
He loves as a buck and carves as a woodsman,
A home and a hearth to heat.

His eyes betray the ghost of eyes I knew before,
But I do not know their story, only
That it puts me at ease in his front seat.

Exhilaration in the act of climbing again,
In sitting on the riverbed naked, fed grapes by artful fingers.
Wonder in the sunbeams shifting through the trees
Awe in the act of a kiss, and
Comfort in a beer and a drag and the warmth he has
to offer.

Were I the primordial force I would claim to be,
I would take his hand and bid him to come away with me
To live in the woods and love by the water.