Interchange

The whole year long

there are more private day

that we could covet

or let go

in public places,

but love

is the only sure way

out of our selves

and into each other.

Timekeeper

I’d rather

waste time with you

than spend it wisely

on

myself.

You

You did not come

just at the beginning of our love.

You were there

in the middle

and at the end

of it all.

Who found who

I can’t remember.

That’s not important now.

Love has brought

us to a place

where we can only overstay

but never leave.

Year

Somehow

February and June

have to give way

to the latter part of the year,

and as I draw near to you

I know that December shall

be waiting expectantly for us

in the shadow of early November.

We are in season

from month to month,

in harmony with love

that floats in the daytime

and lingers to the moment

when it is no longer

worthwhile to say “goodbye,”

or hurry another cycle of years.

Distant in your own world

or one with me in the ourskirts

of another restless month,

you may draw nearer now,

closer than you had ever moved

towards your self.

Wednesday

I would be gentle with you

as the September wind,

as you move about

your newly-ordained day,

happy that the night is over

and a new one is on its way.

I can assure you that

another week

will not bring you

any closer to me,

for no day is as good

as the one before it,

and I intend to keep

it that way,

so let us move lazily

then into the morning

and punctuate it

with memories

of yesterday.

Voice

Struggling to keep up

with the years,

I may never remember

your name

but I shall never forget

your voice.

I will recognize it as my own

in the streets of this my city.

How can it fade

from the walls

of my memory?

What can take its place

as secured as breath

itself,

when it has spoken

to me of love

and laughter

and song

and solitude?

It was the first

and the last

I heard from you.

Until The Last Moment

I’d welcome

even

solitude,

if you would be

the

reason

for

it.

Travelers

Our love is a journey

that has led us

to our selves

and not away.

It’s not meant

to cover distances

but what could take us

by leaps and bounds

from year to year,

where the only passport

is the need to give,

and stopovers unannounced

and bring you to me

a little closer

every day.

The Night

-->The night reveals you more

like no other,

even as my eyes

get accustomed

to the darkness

inside of

and

around

you.

Taking Our Time

One day

leads to another,

so we’ll not respect

too many boundaries

or landmarks

of rain and sunshine

on our trips

up chocolate hills

down green meadows,

taking our time

to be

what we could not have been

yesterday

or become

tomorrow.

Take Me From Street To Street

Let me trace the shores for loose sand,

fix smiling dolls for poor children;

allow me to play the games

of innocent faces.

The children are frolicking

under the shade of a tree,

leaving behind the silhouettes of

their toys.

No one is without a toy;

a piece of stick’s enough for a boy.

Take me from street to street

and show me the spot where walls meet.

Superlative Chronometer

A day well spent,

every hour shared with you

in sequence,

each minute

played out like classical music

to the last

note,

and in numerical symbols

draws me towards

you.

Sunday

I choose to love you

up close and personal,

not that it’s just a choice,

but that it will never

happen again,

the love, I mean,

not the choice,

to a part of you,

the whole of me.

Shelter

There is a change

in the direction of the wind,

even the waves,

and leaves are being tossed

like bubbles and foam upon rock.

The wind reaches you

before my dreams do,

but I reckon they just might fade

along the way.

I seldom visit the old benches now

because I find no shelter in them

without you.

Serendipity

Since that initial encounter

I had to step back

like a portrait painter

to check on perspective

and balance,

to feel,

if from afar,

you’d be warmer

on the horizon

than on the

foreground.

Scattered Showers

The words that were

exchanged between us

were private as the rain.

Our sharing of our selves

was like scattered showers

here and there,

even more so private

because they were between us

alone.

I have taken you

above the clouds,

beyond the rain,

and you have

brought me back

to yourself,

the private you.

Renaissance

I’ll warm your days

and rainy places

with all the sunshine I’ve known,

hoped for

and imagined.

We’ll do only the things

that matter

in the middle of the

season of rain

and nothing more.

Tonight

we’ll be punctual

as the stars,

sure and deliberate

with our words and ways

and have the assurance

that we’d see and hear

the same things again

in one lifetime

before the dawn of our

renaissance years.

Promises

I commit to you love

as I commit to words

my gratitude

that you’ve introduced

to me

love again.

Can I tell you now

that as sure as the morning

moves in

and the day is warm

I’ll never doubt

your promises,

even the ones

you haven’t made?

Private Collection

I have known

and unknown

the gift of yourself

for so many summers now

that there’s no more need

to keep tab

of birthdays and holidays,

because even my yesterday

or your tomorrow

is no guarantee

that I can understand

you more.

It is enough that

my knowledge of you

remains a private collection

of endless beginnings

and a love that endures,

and I have no aim

no purpose

but what could take us across

the hills and valleys

of life.

Portrait

No sundial

or grandfather clock

could dictate

my time with you.

No compass

could direct me

to where you are,

even in the dark.

I believe I know

where your heart is

and where your love

dwells.

I could paint

a portrait of you

and never miss

a smile,

a laughter,

a dream,

because a whole picture

of you

is important for me

to understand myself.