poem: Two of Five: I meet you

I took a journey today.

everywhere that drew my gaze,

touch, taste; you were.

Your breath the fine mist

in the air I breathed,

sweetness in my mouth

of tropical market fruits,

children’s fingers soiled

by precious seedlings held

in clenched fists. The trees where

two souls tentatively approached

each other, once- starting not

from a fixed rotation, but more

like drops of water reflecting

the sun of human hearts.

 

Sunlight on water flowing.

that is how I have left off

defining you, the threads of gold

you weave through my days,

A desire for an immersion where

you recall days you thought

were long behind you, where

passion flows as drops coalescing

to streams to inclined planes

of mountain soils, cascading

tastes of varying purity

and swells that course their way

through tropical fruits growing

in quenched forestscapes.

Now, as then, it is in the

unknowable, indescribable-

sunshade on mountain ridges.

 

I meet you every day the mist falls

I meet you every day the sun rises

I meet you where moonlight finds water

I meet you where gold is created

I meet you every time the wind blows

and I meet you everywhere that human

hearts have learned to let fragile things

remain lost, be found, exist. Thrive.

Author's Note

translated in Spanish at:

http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/zorra_encantada/1568569/

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

this is so beautiful, and it reminds me of a best friend of mine i lost back in 1984 to a fire...she was like all that you mention in the last stanza, and i see, hear and feel her everywhere i look, everywhere i go...

she was an amazing person, so loving and caring, never thinking of herself...she survived a week after the fire...when she woke in the hospital, the first thing she asked was not how she was but asked if her cats were okay.

you create such a landscape of memory in this piece.

j.

[Mary]

beautiful and precious- sunlight on water flowing- you have been blessed thrice: for having had such a beautiful relationship, for having the memories, for the gift of penning those memories with such eloquence