But the ocean drowns in its embrace,
Each granted depth the more crushing.
You dive deep, under wave, into current,
Knowing you must breathe,
Holding out ’til desperate, choking.
Staying down because you love the flow.

But I saw you breathe,
saw you dance over the waves.
You smiled my way as you flew free,
Breaking the still swells, seeing me.
And you drifted near, tasted my air.
Kissing the wind that I stirred.

But the depths called, pulled, an undertow.
The ocean will not wait.
It must wash over your all.
Won’t wait.
Won’t accept your leaping over its claws.
Letting you never fly forever.

But I will follow.
I will attend.
A warm wind trailing your submerged shadow,
offering its soft touch, to fill your chest,
to cleanse your breath when you choke.
Open hand, its fingertips in green seas.

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,
in fear,
had bound.

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,
impatient,
kindled by the gentle breath of your words,
reaching.

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….

Let them eat cake:
The common, coupling hordes;
We dine on honeyed bread:
Sweet and sustaining.

Let them babble of summer days,
and the latest vogue passion;
We commune through rain, sun, and fall,
Speaking of life, all.

Let them beg of their gods,
Cement their fragile union;
We are our lords and servants,
Self-blessed architects and masons of love.

Let the world of bitter weakness
Eat its tear-stained oaths;
We hold our quarrels straight
And find, through them, a stronger bond.

Let them write their perfect verse,
Measured and foot-weary as their love;
I show to you my heart undraped,
Its passions unfit for a mold.

Let them doubt with every stumble
The true peace of their dove;
You have stayed through all my doubt
And are my life, my dream, my love.