Too dry, too dry, those endless
drawn of azure clarity, in hues that seek
to overcome all clouds,
and in the end must make amends
for deserts that have seared and burnt
all life into its grains of sand,
that rise and fall within the wind
encasing everything in granular appeal,
to wear and tear at everything
that dares to travel there.
Too bleak, too bleak
unending taupe of your horizons
diminishing the contrast of extremities.
We seek for flowing, subtle colors
captured in the shadows of the fog;
and soft and sultry summer's warmth
to lead us into cooling, soothing autumn mists
that kiss this flesh in tenderness
to fire the desire to feel more.
So sweet, so sweet,
the undulating feel of moisture
streaming in and out of earthen form;
embellishing the seeds of all potentiality
that bleed through veins of shining ore;
and speak in language hidden at the core
of the matrix of all understanding.
Love, this love
oh, tender touch divine,
reaching, teaching in a sense
of vague and thus mysterious clairvoyance;
as a dream begins to build itself again
within a deep of sleep and satiation;
speaking in a voice divine
that sings upon the strings
of crystal harps and violins.
Beat, oh beat,
this heart of mine;
and know again a touch divine,
that heals as it feels its way along
surrendering to ecstasy eternal;
compounding and expanding
all that's known of this infinity we live.
For dry and moist are built
the meeting of all opposites
that seek to come to know themselves
in the totality of each experience;
in meaning that runs deep and high,
encompassing the left and right,
centered, always centering,
within a stream of loving dreams
that flow from day to night to day again.
Where rage becomes a burning
fire of desire,
and grief no more than just a setting free,
as destiny moves to the fore
and meets itself within the evermore;
sensing that what's meant to be is here,
and, oh my dear, this love of ours
means more than everything . . .
Copyright© 2000 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home...