I leave the door open, awaiting you
as I've done many times before.
Channeling your energy, softening my eyes, releasing all control, easing the curtains back,
banishing time for later.
Come to me, slowly, like a lover; nestle in,
beneath these silences kept taut, hold my hand
to your lips- translate these muted sentiments.
Give this heart, breath. Burn away uncertainties, bury my mind in beginnings, transported before this hoary frost that does not feel.
I want to speak. Tear away self restraint;
let words shiver in pinks and periwinkle dawn.
I am, you are. Entangle in each inhalation, every airy note resounding as a choir, resoundingly full, sainted. Words captivated in translucent harmony.
You return, tickling my tongue
in flecks of first snow; oh, to taste the poetry,
its lush textures - hypnotic and full, swelling, germinating beneath these stilled hands;
I begin to write,
to shave lines from blank pages,
my blade gliding upon ice
while words escalate,
the velocity propelling
each thought, levitating over fields,
liberated from earth, until I feel
transcendent. Staring into
the sunlight's promise, my heart
grows green, again.
How poetry comes some mornings, slowly, painfully at first, then, all is bliss.