Six
o’clock Sunday morning, good morning. Your
kisses,
A
cup of coffee, intimate phrases, bright day!
Outside beckons
The
warmth of southern March. Hurry, dress, and
we will
Take
the rocky path, we’ll march away, away toward the grey slab
Of
cloud capped mountain, a stone sentinel it is, appearing into
Windowed
view as morning’s promise shakes off our dizzied sleep.
Come
in the kitchen where, no, please me, don’t go back to sleep,
Newborn
sunlight is rushing through glass stained with canine kisses.
Wait
for breakfast; ask the dog about the latest mess he’s into:
Dug
up the garden, but hydrangeas and roses don’t mind, their bud beckons
Another
cycle of bloom. Yes, beautiful our
garden! Cheese with your slab
Of bread? Sunlight warms the planks beneath our bare feet, and yes, we will
Sit
on dew drenched grass to lace our walking boots. We will
Go. How perfect the fit of my hand
in yours! The hushed silence of sleep
Cloaks each house we pass, this hour
belongs not to humankind. That slab
Of gabled roof gives ample proof: there
winged creatures gather in a chorus, kisses
To them are not as sweet as song. Hear morning’s birdsong! An avian aria beckons
At each turn: bellbird, grey warbler
and fantail bel canto, nature’s madrigal.
Into
Tall
evergreen soloists fly, hide and watch us passing by, we tramp the valley into
The
wood to go. And as we climb we leave the
lowland green behind, hide we too will
From
the world. I follow you meander ‘round red
and silver beech, your smile beckons
I keep in step. Overhead the canopy carves light and
shadow patterns, sleep
World, away world, says the wind and I intone in kind. Soft mist
softly kisses
Our flesh; vapor drifts on fern, and
moss, and pendulous leaf, covers a rock slab
With
drops that look like tears, yes we both cry, this forest and I. Rest upon a slab
Of
broad cool stone, ask me beside you: I’ll read the riddles of your face, peer into
The
luminous brown of your eyes. I have
espoused the pain of sharing you, take kisses
Left discarded when you away another one’s embrace. Seduced, I will
Give. I need the boundless joy of being near
you. My love won't sleep:
It waits for you, it hopes for you, longs for you. It beckons
And endures as a beaten mountain endures
assault. It beckons
You in dulcet honeyed hues: sigh it’s
me you want it asks. Near a slab
Of lichen
covered rock nest a pair of wattle birds.
They sing and sleep
Unaware their ancient species is nigh
extinct. Their duet ascends into
The
air. Sing away the future loving birds.
Sing. Soon, we two will
For home, where waits the world, and
wait, like songs caressing lips, kisses.
When
at night sleep beckons we’ll entwine each other’s limbs into
Wreaths
of our flesh. In and out and around each
other, sweetly we will.
Was
the roving real I’ll wonder, or a slab of daydreamed thoughts and kisses?
