When I was five or six, maybe four
I with my father to his freinds farm
We went to help with bringing in the hay
The small house with an open door
while rife with old country charm
drew me in on this sunny summers day

Memere inside standing by the table
was looking out at the hay field...
Pepere picking alfalfa and clover
In her hands was vase of marble
Cherished for the treasure it would yeild
Half filled it with water from the river

The door opened and in entered a breeze
presenting an intoxicating scent of flowers
coloured with purples and white
He presented the bouquet with a wheeze
from the pollen that would hang for hours
and glossy eyes on his face so alight

Their hands touched ever so tenderly
as he gave her the flowers of alfalfa and clover
No words needed said of love and devotion
their eyes did meet momentarily
with a "soupson" of admiration for each other
Unchanged since their first introduction

As a boy I did not understand what I witnessed
As an adult when I see or smell alfalfa and clover
I stop to embrace and be infused by their totem
I sense they are walking in a field of mist
where the flowers bloom today, tomorrow and forever
I know that on that day, I had lived in a poem

I gaze out to the open field
Yearning for my own expansive space
What celestial quiescence it would yield
If one could stow to such a place

A simple journey of bold
To mitigate my teenage woes
In a moment to be released of fold
A house of one hundred and forty toes

A quickened pace unleashed
To reach these grounds so hollow
Away from the sharing unbeseeched
To my sanctuary, a summer fallow

With wavering shadows queued
Across a sea of furrows, hence
Thresholds of a willing solitude
My new abode, between a distance

From the back of the amalgam-coated glass
Reflections of a backward self
A communications gallery of
Familiar features that time has shaped
A metamorphosis, I think not so

For eyes, eyes unchanging as mountains
Covetous of the material world
Conveyors of deception
Keepers of a stoic past
Guardians of a Pandora’s box

What powers thee possesses
To penetrate this tenured vortex
What contrivance
Releases water and salt
A fissure

Swirling emotions, confusion
Muscle fibers that remember
Bits of information released and recaptured
Bolts of pain flashing across a shielded chest
Sanctuary sought within a fetal self

What powers thee possesses
To penetrate this tenured vortex
What contrivance
Releases more water and salt
A river

Arms extended
Promises of safety
Broken bones, broken trust

Caregivers at work
Expressions of love
Seen from afar, further still

Words of wisdom
Instructions of work
Failed expectations, disgust

What powers thee possesses
To penetrate this tenured vortex
What contrivance
Releases water and salt
An ocean

Religious beliefs
Procreative duty
A numerical lot, identities lost

Sharing of food
Selected portions
Calculated worth, lessened value

Childhood dreams
Encumbered plans
Lost play, labor bound

What powers thee possesses
To penetrate this tenured vortex
What contrivance
Releases more water and salt
A horizon

Such is the power of unconditional love
Of accepting non-judgmental eyes
Of healing hands
A soul who knows such disturbances
Such sorrows of childhoods lost

A spiritual journey renewed
Resiliency is my strength
Active patience my tool
Universal energy my food
A soul so noble my guide