Here we are,
kissing altars
in the Times of Sand;
the boards are rock, we ride the wind
and surf Content, contempt
of love, but we are here
this far;
the tide runs soft, it has run wild
we hold close as we search the sky
each twirl a wave,
summer-winter salt
rake our lips, these tunes
can touch the sun; our days are these
like seas,
and a million songs inside
where we live and die so many times
before
we touch again what we lost sometime.
The music drowns - not you
not I- we cannot leave
what draws the tide:
eddied curls of hate and life, spools of pain and some grey-
wordless- shallow : tidal things,
my love, but this,
is left
what we breathe and know
like faith and hope and charity not fear, these e’en more
I have only little words for,
‘Perfect Love casts out Fear.” We saw it here
with eyes of faith,
we saw it near,
so far, and yet so
clear, what we just met
here, dancing in the aisle of
faith
…………………………………..
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Winter came back with a fury while we looked forward to spring. Grey skies which sometimes blushes pink (like you said in another piece) and while while I probably didn’t get what you wrote, there was warmth in this piece and a hope of winter going on it’s way to give spring a chance.