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Personal Note:
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Poem
Wondering upon our almost forgotten smiles
and twinkling eyes hidden, 
we have spun this world
in smoke and mirrors, 
reflecting light in curving waves. 

We have wandering
into the misty fog
as it marched 
out of clear air 
on a perfect night 
to become rooted 
in the moss upon which we dream, 
seizing that ethereal ground like honey 
under winter's veil. 

Perhaps it explains why
that which spins in you 
is foreign to me, 
sometimes, 
and yet somehow 
a thread of it loops around my heart 
and tugs, 
as familiar as kin, 
or friends too long apart. 

And I realize how deeply 
you reflect the same light 
that I've known uncounted
for a thousand years 
times a thousand more. 

I feel the stretch of this flaxen fulfillment 
and hear its golden tone humming 
as it lengthens. 
Sometimes too loose to vibrate 
the membranes 
of our soup-can telephones. 
So that even though we both speak 
in muted carefully hesitant tones, 
our words slip away into space 
and only the stars know the songs we sing. 
Bellowed out like whales in an empty sea, 
only by chance refracted into a hearing ear,
that begins to understand
and then lapses into slumber again.
Even as magnificently we harmonize 
beyond the dark face of the hidden moon at midnight, 
we hear not each others callings, 
and even less often see them dancing. 
Except perhaps 
in the limelight of our hearts sweet glow 
where I know we live. 

So it is odd to feel 
this familiar twist 
of an old theme 
of distant overtures not really knowing 
what note should follow 
the one that follows 
the one that is yet unwritten. 
It just floats there unresolved, 
sometimes aching for nothing at all, 
other than the illusion of being. 
Yet sometimes aching for the grace 
to say softly, the love that floats here 
in my heart for you, 
without trying to enchant an echo. 

Just to freely blow that kiss 
into free space knowing 
that is enough to be received 
by the one that is. 
And given by that one too, 
to itself. 

And so I reflect upon that flow 
I have named you, 
and wish it good journey, 
knowing we are both leaf and river. 
Masters of the helm 
we sometimes do not steer 
and only at the mercy 
of the sea we will not tame.
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