Twelve Months
Time
it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories; they're all that's left you
-
Paul Simon
Come stand next to me by the mirror,
silver cup in your hand. Your warmth
caresses over me in the chill
of this winter morning.
New years speak of new beginnings
where hope leaps eternal
beneath the icicle winds
that blanket the reflections of the last year.
The winter grows long. We
seem to have
nothing left to say as we watch the fire
crackle and consume the wood and our wishes
while outside the people lean against
the cruel fingers of winter’s grip
that will not let go of the mind
or of the body or of the soul.
Life renews and hope returns
when the sun erodes winter's icy grasp,
yet there are still days that restless
we watch from the window
the gray sky reflect our thoughts
while I hold your hand
as much from habit as from affection.
Beneath the gentle touch of the rain
spring once again cleanses the dirt
of the lingering winter from our souls
while once again my heart warms to yours
with the remembrance of how the flight
of the returning birds give us a hope
which is both wordless and profound.
May
Perhaps these days are the most glorious,
perhaps these days are the most delicious,
when the lemon sun paints the canvas of our lives
and reminds us of how love long planted
in the garden of life can flower again,
its seeds of passion and desire
blooming in a riot of color against the blue backdrop
of a sky touched by the wind that carries your laughter.
And now as the earth bursts forth pregnant
with the growth and promise which is the true gift of summer,
I watch you move across the landscape of my life,
your white cotton dress flowing beneath your determined step,
where you leave me breathless with the desire
to have you forever in my life.
The long days of this season show the first hints
of the browned grasses that signify the need
for the rains to refresh the life of the earth.
So too, the thirst of my soul searches the clouds
for the assurance of the showers
that tells me that your love is still a part
of my parched existence.
Too long the heat has driven deep into our hearts,
too long we have walked through the inferno of these days
that is only relieved by the touch and the taste
and the scent of your skin soft beneath my lips
as our bodies weave as one under the long summer moon.
Sometimes we walk the path
of warm afternoons where we hold dear
these days where the ripeness of the season
needs no explanation; other times
the cool caress of the wind and the rain hint
that soon we shall store away our harvest
and that soon we will forget this world
to withdraw into a universe of our own making.
If any beauty exists that can match
the crimson and yellow fires of the autumn leaves
as they proclaim the glory of this time of year
it is the smile that tenderly touches your eyes
with the words that are never said
but are always in our hearts.
The days grow shorter as sometimes does our patience.
Against the canvas of the slate gray sky
our words can bite with the bitter sting
of the rains that seem as endless as the memories
of the days of ice and snow that lie ahead.
Come stand next to me by the mirror,
silver cup in your hand. Your warmth
caresses over me in the chill
of this winter morning.
Old years speak of old endings
where hope finds its rest
beneath the desire for a warm breeze
to embrace the expectations of the coming year.