How can I give thanks for the monument
of your heart which you build like a
ladder to the stars? When I climb your
words I feel myself looking down at a
universe filled with your love, your compassion;
until my eyes are filled with tears, my
heart with desire, my touch with longing,
and my soul filled with you.
I see you naked. Stepping out of a
controlled absence. I see you feeling in
the darkness for a part of you which
existed without consent. I
witness your fear to take the next step
in case the stars give way, and then your
frustration at pulling back; at hesitating
and hiding behind the old cold comfort
which is no comfort anymore. I see
the colour of your theme; alone among
others it pierces my world; a secret tongue
in a fresh scent of saying. Inviolable
it moves like the ocean winds, creating
a tidal motion in a sea of barley
across the summer of our birth; the insect
sun crawling across my skin and onto yours.
As I sit looking from my window your
words cast a warring argument in my
head. The old furies are present again
and I wonder how much the digging pulls
you back? They are words for a generation
of lovers; their hearts around each others pain,
this single conflict balancing the eyes -
a longing thirst to share each others skin.
And their grief, like mine, sucked from a year’s
absence is no stranger to the weather;
fearing that time when your words may quietly
slip away. Though in this season of high
grasses and sun flakes your words are like a
horse with wings, which takes height and climbs your
monument of words, monument of feeling,
that takes me back to your birth among the stars.
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