Somewhat Midnight Hill

Far from the place we used to live,
Wandering rivers find the sea;
There, on a somewhat midnight hill
Stands a young couple, you and me,

Far from the gray mistakes we’ve made,
Foundering ships and trips on wire,
There, on a somewhat midnight hill,
Watching the smoke float ever higher.

Oh, for the now appearing stars,
Indigo sky and velvet blue,
There on a somewhat midnight hill,
I can be I, and you can be you,

Far from the flags and voices raised,
Ocean heard breathing, constantly:
There on a somewhat midnight hill,
I can feel you, and you

See me

Flowers Cannot Fix It

You have this dream, that she’ll be there
At dinnertime tonight
And, if you make it perfect
Everything will be alright

But flowers cannot fix it
Cannot make this dream come true:
Don’t worry friend, she’ll smile again —
But it won’t be

With you

. just one desire .

we chase at times the wild prize
that runs from us unflaggingly;
we track at times the quiet hope
that slides and sidesteps, stealthily –

or maybe, we’ve just one desire:
a slender, lonely, candle-beam —
that we have never chased or tracked
for it’s right there,
in every
dream

How Tangible

It’s strange how tangible is lack,
How much reality
Is in the things we wish we knew
That never come to be.

The touch I’ve wanted long to feel,
The taste I’ve never savored:
They’re still within my fevered mind,
And that has never wavered —

It’s strange how very real it is:
These things I’ve never known
Are I’ll I’m left with, in the end,
Imagining

 
Alone

{ Swim the Galaxy }

Tell me who I am, and I’ll tell you
About the kind of world you long to see:
A wonderland beyond expectancy,
Where what is good, and beautiful, and true
    Can find a home, or sit beneath the stars
    Like fireflies turned loose at last from jars.

Tell me what you’ve learned, and I’ll show you
The hope you once thought you had left behind;
To be alike, is to be of a kind
Of world that we could make or form anew —
    So come and swim the galaxy with me,
    For to belong is to be truly

    Free

An Untoward December

I dream in silence, dream of running children,
Of you, the way you were so long ago;
So long ago, some untoward December,
The cold before the falling of the snow.
You’re going faster, up and towards the mound —
The film is running, running without sound

There is no taste or scent, there’s only vision;
The colors are bedimmed, to black-and-white,
You turn, excited, asking me to chase you,
And in my dream, I’m ready for the flight —
For though the scene is silent, I’m assured
By how you looked, of what had been your word.

With travels great, word-billions said,
Somehow, there lives within my head,
A vision, like a silent show:
A place I was a hundred lives ago —

I dream in silence, dream of us as children,
Of you and I out running in the fields,
Out in the fields of untoward December,
Before our hearts constructed all these shields —
For though the world grows old and taut with violence,
I still remember you within
The silence


Photo credit : ID 72579129 Vadim Zakharishchev | Dreamstime.com