Untitled
June 12, 20052/11/1990
My mind flows,
vividly erupting in signs so picturesque and meaningful.
Signs I’ve only seen before in dreams.
And you return them,
simmering in candle-beauty as you share with me the words.
Neither of us speak, we stare at . . .
Our hands meet between us,
moving independently of our bodies and each other.
Together making words no one knows, but feeling radiant.
You lift your hands in grace,
I lift mine in return.
The air a shimmering trace,
Into the night you turn.
One of the few poems from my in-between period. An expression of love for the woman who opened a new world to me, where poetry is expressed in the hands, and meaning is a question of movement, not word-choice.
