Speak, My Heart, Speak
A poem about love
As lonesome as the last tree in a field
I sit, waiting to see you again
to peer out over a meadow’s long horizon
and whisper tales of courage and tenacity
to grow, symmetry hidden, in shades
deep and rich in emerald wisdom
to reach with invisible forces
and touch your lips to mine
to desire the sun as if goddesses sang
And I weave my clothes to sell
to beggars pith of need.
For fate is what we paint
with brushes of mind and essence,
yet we do not see the death of a wasp
nor do we feel the end of an anthill
as boots, heavy of grit,
trample upon invisible cosmos
and multitudes of friends.
Do you understand the universe
in a raindrop?
Or grasp infinity in a sea squall?
I wonder if I could paint
the heavens of thine eyes
and through it all
unlock the Pearly Gates
of sincere lore
walking hand in hand
with candor
and mathematical vigor.
In time I know,
I will find my way
as a bird to South
in winter’s accord.
And I know
in hours of now
my love is the only
clock I need
To tell me the hour
of my authentic
being.
