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for devorah ii three thousand years ago in the city of seven wells singers of songs and hilltop flutes were heard. dancers danced and children played peace slept there as the wheat grew high in my memory’s edge. what I spoke to you in those ancient days I speak to you again eternally endlessly in-between torture by stretched veins which one-by-one all broke dark nights hurling me in falling sleep I awoke with dread and a leary stare and pretended I heard your morning song in the wheatfields I understand nothing quietly I loved you alone I laughed insensate in pain beyond any meaning until finally your vision shined too brightly I tried to hide it like a hoarder with smuggled onyx and amethyst (but I could not) the seasons changed but the years did not the birds do not fly south in a spontaneous winter's moment you took my hand innocently so long your liquid eyes painted you and me in daisy meadows in a time-lapsed ballet flowing through pirouettes and more most effortlessly holding our virginal bodies in holy springs and living waters we are truly the artisans of life listen to the symphony which quivers to your stroke your soul hears "shantih" love like the seven wells is never completely full nor empty we drink this godly water and come together again until living at last begins |
| Other poems: for devorah "he leaned against someone who cared" In My Dreams Poesy Syllogism Blues tuesday basketball "we are all trees in a forest" "Yes I died" |