The elms of the lawn exist, surely, just for this moment;
roots, trunk, branches, grown over decades
only to dapple Ra’s gaze into golden fire in your hair,
only to orchestrate the light and soft shadow
which dances on your cheek, hips, neck.
You stride strong back into my mind,
and your recognizing smile
slays the stoic warden
which my feelings,
Our growing rift halts its time-devouring yawn
and cries for bridging:
a deluge of desire, hope, and inquiry
rinses lucid lines from my thought.
My dream returns,
kindled by the gentle breath of your words,
The wind blows, surely, just for this moment;
sun, air, brown shadows,
stirred by the wings of butterflies
only to carry the husky whisper of your scent,
only to halo your face in swirling locks
which leap to the freeing sky….