Strands roven

I watch the skyline darken.
Above the slant of tiled roofs
spires, like reaching hands beseech,
questing vanes aligned with higher powers,
and all the later clutter,
clamped on like barnacles, sieve the atmosphere.
All, in their fashion, seeking truth.

For a moment I wonder at all the roven strands of love
passing through time’s warp and weft,
and the many patterns woven.
Like fathoms of line,
I coil a length of thought,
letting it run through my hands,
feeling among the tangles, knots, and patches spliced
for where a special thrill of heart calls,
a sense of knowing
a story told and telling.

Once,
perhaps,
the wind called as it passed
through the stiffly waving grasses atop the dunes
singing of the mist among the islands.
As the lines of foam
embroidered lacy frills along the shore,
I paused and saw you there,
salt spangled skin aglow,
wind caught hair,
sun sparked eyes.

As our eyes caught and held
the roar of the wind and sea faded,
stilled,
and the current of blood within became a song.
In that breathless moment
a thousand, thousand stories
poised as a the flock of sandpipers along the strand,
bent legged and watchful,
ready at a breath to scatter
etching like the cast of runes
a forever pattern on heaven’s table.

Shall we share them then?
Tales murmured in touch,
silken whispers.
Delight in taste and smell.
All lit with flashing eyes?
All questions asked
even as the answers echo back;
yes and more and now and please.
An eternity locked in the amber of one sun-warmed moment

The spatter of raindrops against the window calls me back
From the darkened pane only my reflection gazes back
I smile at the wonder of your cheek against my palm
the dip along your back
wonder how your breast might brush my arm
as we turn
Oh, as we turn