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Loving
The sweet unfocused dream of love,
Wandering summers, fireside winters,
Autumns drifting deep in red-russet-gold,
To say nothing of spring, the lovers’ month.
Let pens drop and conversations falter,
Watch wistfully from windows,
Forget your waketime reasons and
Stand lost, for a moment, in
Sensation of feeling
Unencumbered with the day’s
febrile fugitive motives.
Look up lost at questions,
Lose the fork among the food,
Float in and out of rooms
With the lightness of ghosts.
And in all of this unthereness
Know you are holding her close
Across the ocean of darkness,
Cruel distance bridged through
The soul’s own flight.
Copyright ©
Paul James
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