page 61

walls stand guard
and i stand beneath their chins.

they laugh at my pride
and they tell me to go within.

"but in here i am safe!
in my Self i can stay!"

Sweetheart you are wrong.
It is your own walls you must betray.

:::

eyes be that of lavender

illuminated by a sunflower smile

with hands---lilies of the valley---

cupping a heart of rose

where the skin is a blanket of daisies

and the soul be that of aloe vera plant

laced with baby's breath...

there are difficulties in knowing     

if You are the bouquet,     

or the garden     

from where its contents came;     

no matter the origins,     

You present as You are     

:::

he wrote a poem to Life
with just days to close his casket-eyes.

as today, i have found and read to you,
these words to his wife:

Life, my lovely,
That of the living
Whose beauty of breath
Is inhaled as The Giving.

Exhaled without even a thought,
Of you and your abundance.
Unlike the humans, I am naught.

I now understand my common resolute,
To be the Mourning-Dove-Messenger---oh!---
Glory in the hands of this prior Destitute!

Soil, a stranger to me of that before
Though it is you who are the soil!
I kiss your feet on the floor.

Life, my lovely,
That of the living
Whose beauty of breath
Is inhaled as The Giving

Time signals I do commence The Call,
As I feel a completion in me.
At last my casket-eyes can fall!

My end could be naught without you to begin.
I see to conclude with giving in my eyes.
To which humans' eyes are staunchly akin!

I will steal their suffering in a dark alleyway.
As I have learned how you live,
These untethered souls will give another day.

You, my lovely,
Who permitted me to die.
I see my purpose---to tell humans
They, given, are alive.

Life, my lovely,
I will love you always

Sincerely to y---

:::

most of the time we judge a book

not by its cover but by its binding;

in the library of the world

we scan the titles looking for those

which please us the most.

---the titles!

---on the binding of a book!

before we have considered taking it off the shelf

we are deep within the scanning judgment

of other titles, neglecting even

a look at the cover face-to-face,

God-willing the Table of Contents!

:::

the other day,

a curious hat,

landed on my helicopter pad.

a naive detective of

the nymph that is Love---

my words stretched out of hibernation;

to a friend,

i had to ask,

stranded on the futon land.

seasoned lips gracing a cup

"so when be it Love?"

her words awoke after some hesitation:

"i don't know...

till its not what i wanted."