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Friday, June 16, 2006

Digging for the Divine

I went for a walk the other night
to that lake were we'd first met,
dusky hues and ghosts hand in hand
showing the way, like children
wheeling under the stars,
resisting the temptation to chase
I followed them slowly,
though I was running inside
to that watering place,
what a place of all places
to find love.

Obviously so much had changed since,
and there was no indication
of that subtle, momentous occasion
where I had changed forever,
when friends had called me to sit
on the bench that is still there,
resting like a forlorn pilgrim
that had taken root but meant to go,
and I saw you in the dark,
sitting still on that rickety seat -
I knew at that moment I'd love you.

Someone had introduced you,
cigarette smoke and shadow
hiding a new yet well known face,
but we didn't look at each other then,
for we knew - you knew,
that it wasn't yet time,
heart measured minutes
just taking things at your pace,
wrapped in the arms of expectation,
and I sat in that blessed place,
the space by your side.

I'd never known such a pregnant silence,
we became a part of the water,
weed and oak,
as you continued to look out
at the lake, and I looked up
to trace the tail of a dizzy star,
and all I could think about
was digging for the divine in you,
wondering which love song we'd choose,
or what your bare feet
sounded like on linoleum.

Then it had began, suddenly shy,
the gliding of hands, afraid to be taken,
the first hello, afraid to swing open,
as cigarette and intention continued to burn
with silver-married-amber disks of light,
strong yet destined to die,
and I couldn't count all the questions
tremblings hearts lost,
when we looked into each other's eyes,
and everything that had lurked in the night
came out into the open.

Second time around
there was no merciful amnesty,
as I sat down on that lonely bench
memories deserted me,
turned to wind gossip in the trees,
and I tried to ignore
the stares and whispers
of the ghosts that began to ask after you -
had they thought that behind this corner
instead of recrimination in a vacant lot,
you'd be waiting for me?

I pretended not to notice,
as in our first night, I lifted my eyes
to the sky, watched the moon,
only half a person, crescent horns
seemingly pointing nowhere,
and I couldn't help net one final memory,
how our moon had been full that night,
running wild like an untamed secret,
boasting courage enough to chase
the first whisper of approaching day,
a foolish fire lost in the wind.

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