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In the middle of august when the southwest wind blows after sunset through the leisuring air,

he bent at my bed and took some clay and touched the eyes of my heart.

I knew his heart was Love’s very own heart

and saw in him the longing mirroring my own soul’s craving.

Since that day

intense heaven between close-lying faces,

we’ve found love in hidden places,

saving each other, one moment at a time

mouth to mouth and heat to heart.

(written May 1, 2004)

What magnificence is life, recording passion and ecstacy,

to be summoned in an instant from the dream state of our souls where we are still making love.

My mind is less reliable than this vital organ of memory that I can never prove

in all my vain searching with senses looking out

at the empty pillow next to me tonight.

(written May 4, 2021)