Sunday, April 19, 2009

electric company

Illume Of Bliss

Every hair on our heads
this morning,
sparking electric
arcs of light and bliss.

Dull sun disappearing
across the lake,
relieving trees
of their own shadows.

Taste of cinnamon
in warm winds
reminds us
we too were once children.

Bound by a language
of natural sound
we linger listening
to crickets' Hottentot talking.

We rise to walk,
summoning strength
from black caffeine,
field, wood, ridge awaiting.

European sons and daughters
wandering intuition maps,
instinct geographies,
ephemeral and yet familiar.

Standing near melt-water rills ,
transfixed by their babble,
we speak
of futures still downstream.

We still carry with us
all the mud springs'
stuck fast
to feet through mean seasons.

Tongues seek the bitters
of a kiss
still wet
and sweetening our lips.

Hold each other here
still enough
to sense this mountain
shift less than a millimeter.

Time is a passing cloud
moving across
the sunny days
we exalt as memories over others.

Covet the nights,
the unseen dawns,
fog shroud showers
and the rain that slows the days.

Walking south into wind,
our cold hands
together, electric,
connected to the illume of bliss.

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