Restless are the eyes that follow
searching out a purpose,
some nameless claim,
so warm, tepid,
and full of oceanic wonder;
those following two---
those damp spheres of shade.

Regrettably, a thought arrives---
I did not request your name,
lovely living statue,
found of selective voice.

Mark my posture
as a ship listing on the waves,
turn back to port,
turn back to safety,
return to the familiar
these things I know.

Pulse cease,
disquiet chamber
place hold and become stagnant,
meaning and reason please return;
human folly was born of myself,
and remains nameless,
such as my captive audience.

Such bindings of flesh and form,
build me to agony,
and remain a prisoner of chemistry
this creature, this mystery,
this name---
was never offered to me in kind.

I suppose---
there are things best kept hidden,
not spoken loud
as the heart manages its uttering
I walk down the hallway,
perceiving your gaze at journey's end.

Slowly still,
my footsteps fall in procession
and knowing not at all,
when the day concludes
such thinking is above my own
and I am left to wonder
if such a goddess was ever meant
to have earthly title.

Yellow and lime
Distinct in rhyme
Have raised their heads before their time
Wordsworth's words sought in kind

Intent rearranged as the gaze has changed with age
Do Daffodils cheer me up?
Not so vast in a public park

For experience raises expectations
or am I the holder of a colder heart
further inline set to depart

A voice stored inside reminds
with a twinkle in his eye that
'Variety is the spice of life'

The veil of white; no visible
Horizon; the blizzard roars and swirls;
We stand there all alone in this vast world;
Can see nothing but each other; no more
Is important; the lake is encased in crispy
Crust of ice; it creaks and moans under
The gust; the legs are freezing and we
Sway to and fro a little just to save some
Of the warmth; the sky and the horizon are
Aligned into one blank white nothingness;
We know there is a shore beyond there;
But it is hard a thing to believe in, for our
Minds refuse to acknowledge the fact of
Something being way over yonder; and so
We stand and we watch while the lashes
Of the wind scratch our crimson faces
And with the claws strive to tear our skin
And make ours eyes moisten and it is
Almost intolerable an ordeal to merely
Stand there as statues of a time long
Gone and past; but we do stand there
With our gazes staring beyondward
Into the ever-receding and unreachable Unknown

Though we build a tower
       we can still not
       touch the
                          stars..