{I remember the
way the light
danced across
your eyes in the
sunlight and
you lifted your
face in laughter.}
I probably gave you
more than if you
portioned everything
out,
measuring
as in a kitchen
where all the
timers sound at once.
We both know I
never keep pace
with systems and
yes — I
removed the battery
of that old clock
because the ticking
dared to
taunt me.
I speak of hearing
colors, of themes
found in paintings,
the movement
of music
motivating
toward a shoreline
or receding
from a life.
The stretching
expressions of
shadows flickering
through a
tree whose shade
was ample
last summer
but now sits sparse.
Are you parched?
Do you find
refreshment by
the greedy grab
of achievement
or in a momentary
embrace of
peace?
I am untroubled.
I am unafraid.
I stand at the
intersect of light
and movement,
awaiting a
shift in the
wind.
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