Stores of sweet, a sip of rich desire

In the middle dark

the passages stand open,

and the choice of when to go

and where

is unencumbered.

The slumbering horde

in groans and sighs lays whispering,

breath erupts in sudden gasps and nods,

and the sleepless few

move with silent, careful steps.

This is when I think of you

and all you’ve meant to me.

For now we do our separate dance,

face risks alone, advancing as we do,

wrestling beasts and wresting joy.

You, small warrior,

with the silk-draped hip and breast,

turn to me and wrap yourself

around my nakedness,

as though to wish me on my way

with stores of sweet, a sip of rich desire,

to carry on to where I dream of next.

I wait for you to rise for me

I am your silk and satin offering,

but you must win me with your sword.

I will not come this night to you—

I wait for you to rise for me.

The Spooking Call and the Plunging Dark

I have never been

alone in the North

at night and so far

from everything and everyone

that I could not hear the hum

of voices in my head

or the clang and whistle

of the iron way.

But I have been at the spot

where the sound of the whistling beast,

the steel and the weight of it,

was the spooking call,

the sound of the plunging dark;

where the honey-scented mortal thing

weaving through the sweet thorns,

beneath the clouded light of stars,

waved along by the wet-grass fairies,

is certain to arrive in the spying dawn

that whispers hints and rumors

and promises to fill

the heart’s desire

to be forever lost.

I have been there.

I have been there.

And I will go again.

What Evolution Has Wrought

or

Narcissism and Poetry:

Two Peas in a Human Pod

Whenever I find that I have forgotten

something I wanted to remember,

forgotten something I wanted to do,

I must first decide—

without knowing in the present moment

exactly what it is I have forgotten—

how important it might be to remember

whatever it is that has gotten away from me,

and if I decide that the thing I can’t remember

merits remembering, then I must think back

to the moment I became aware

that I had forgotten whatever it is I wished

to remember or do, and continue to explore

each moment preceding that moment

until I arrive at the point and the place

when I was last aware of whatever

it was that I do not remember now.

I hope that having arrived there

the recovered memory

will turn out to be worth the effort.

A Different Place to Stand

Like an oracle

draped in fine cloth,

she spoke.

Always and only

find the small way through.

Always and only

seek the hidden path.

Always and only

stand when standing will count.

In that moment

she walked away.

Remembering the good times,

he shook himself.

He watched her go.

Then, just as she had done,

he walked away himself,

seeking the small way,

seeking the surprises he might find

waiting on the hidden path,

and a different place to stand.