Tuesday, February 14, 2012

"Love you forever, and forever..."


"I feel like I’ve known you forever.
Like I’ve held you in my heart for centuries...”
― S. Kenyon

I turn the corner
on an ancient wall
of bouldered stone,
a home with windows
of mica...
of clouded
glass that bubbles with
promise of
light..

and I can feel you
in the shadows
a cool respite from the
heat of an
afternoon in
the Tuscan sun...

but I have never been
here and
you are still without a face
only a presence
in my dreams...

or are they dreams...

could this be a memory of
a time when we
as children,
wandered through the
cobble-stoned
village
bare-foot and
unwearied by the
roles we would one day
assume
in each other's lives....

how long is this
path

how long have we
been traveling within reach and
where did
our hearts
first intersect

were you there
when I learned to
gather grasses on the plains
of a primordial
African
Savannah?

Was your spirit
reaching to me from the
hand of a
mid-wife...an angel-woman,
a sage who
held me while I rocked and
keened at the stillness
of my first born...

Were you the song of the
wood thrush
calling me forward through
the
forest when i was
lost and
hungry,
a frightened peasant child
so many
lifetimes
ago...

were you the breeze
whispering,
swirling,
bending soft branches,
softly insisting that
they
bow themselves to
your will,
dropping apples and
pears
ripe with promise
at my feet...

tell me...

are you the sound of
tibetan prayer bowls,
two hundred chimes,
a thousand violins,
a single cello...

are you
the
rushing,
brushing,
echoing of
winter,
breathing
through icicles
that hang from the eaves,
that
drip from the roofline of
grandfather's cabin
high in the Alps

are you the voice that
reminds me
I am never
alone...

I feel your hand at the
small of my back,
and
know that it has
been there
before...

you were there
in the north wind that lifted my
sails and carried me
across the sea,
in the warm granite at the
base of
the Moher cliffs,
shale and shell against my
back as I waited for
my father to return from
fishing,

there...

in the scent of
sandalwood and cedar
wafting up from the open
chest of quilts my
grandmother brought from
Ireland,
in the nuances,
the middle notes,
the gentle touch of fingers on the
keys beneath the
strains of a
Chopin*
nocturne...

Love is not
constrained by time,
never bounded by its form,
confined to to
a place...

Love transcends all that
would hold it
within the limits of a
name or
place...or the final
sentence of
a single
chapter...

Love is
Spirit...

the unseen,
the ever-felt,

the never forgotten...

"...and, if at last I find you,
your song will fill the air.
Sing it loud so I can hear you...
and you know I will, I will...'”

― Lennon/McCartney


* Yundi Li plays Chopin's
Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2.


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