the crying sun attacked our skin from morning through the afternoon; we walked around the open town -- the year, and us, were both at June -- and heat was more inside than out. we laughed, we loved, and then we burned from both exposure to the sun and love we took in, unconcerned, as we were wont to do, back then. for we contemned such weather when there were days and nights to fit our young bodies together
the day came i no longer walked upon the rocks or near the edge for fear of what might happen i now warn the younger ones instead the young ones look to us to calm the fears they have, but often we bring new ones to them they don't want but which we offer bountifully
In the days of the distant mountain, We counted our inhales; We laughed at the breakfast table, And spun our aging tales To an audience of newfound friends That changed at a climbing rate -- In the days of the distant mountain, We chose to congregate. In the place of the desert stillness, We took the daily heat, The nightly cold, the streaming stars, And ate what we could eat, Til we knew that our time exploring Had narrowed to a room -- In the place of the desert stillness, The cactus flowers bloom In springtimes we will never see, A hazy sunlit dome: Beneath the distant mountain Is our eternal Home.
The fell at once in almost-love, And it was all their dreams, and more; Like flowers by an April brook, A book, a smile, a movie score For he was her, and she was him, And they were everything in all; But when you fall in almost-love, You're soon left only with The fall
a saturday choice wandering to a nearby town just the two of us no purpose but to be and see strange happenings found nowhere just life and just us
security, obscurity, anachronistic purity, he feels he must apologize for all his immaturity from plentitude to desuetude, in solitude and servitude the tired, aging, longing eyes find everything but certitude
The world was never simple: it is not simple now, nor was it in the bygone days we idolize somehow. For humans do as humans are: the sane, the sick, the mad -- the range that covers all extremes, both good, as well as bad
I lost you in the days when we were mired in the weekly grind; the heart and body set aside to cultivate (or use) the mind I lost you when we realized how much was worn and tattered from all of the neglectful time misjudging what had mattered And now, there is no you to find, though I might travel far, or near, for objects in the mirror are far guiltier than they appear
you spin the dial, looking for the next one: and hear that crackling sound, and spin it back, but slower -- there is something in the space there, or was there, and so, careful in attack you work minutely, listening for miles, for what new song you'll hear, what voice might say, or even, what new language it might be in -- those days when things could still be far away
