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Santa Monica Pier

I remember watching 
the ocean roll on the shore,
wave after wave, 
crashing down on the solid sand
and I idly staring back
wondering if the Atlantic was as blue.

I watched him light a candle
and move in the swaying light
from a bygone age.

The flame flickered, so fragile,
it leans and sways in the cold breeze

My burning love is the flame in the lamp
From antiquity--a pre-industrial artifact

An oil lamp of glass from Rome
Bronze from Carthage
A terra-cotta from Athens

He smiles at me 
in a flicker of light and 
knows all my past like a line from Virgil
A chronicle from Homer
An essay from Milton, a history of Herodotus

And me, ignorant,
knowing nothing of him 
can only quote 
from Ovid, 
	Beowulf, 
		Caedmon and Gilgamesh.
 
The flame descends,
From the nape of the lit candle,
	 and we are lying in darkness on a spring night.

Everything in history is forgotten 
	and yesterdays are not so many 
	as night descends, 
		the lit moon cast in the glow 
			of the lamplight of our love.

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