Thursday, December 6, 2007


under a tree
bathed in dappled light
soft as candlelight,
filtering through pale apple-green spring needles, soft cones.
The one you love no longer postpones
his declaration of love, his desire to spend
his life with you. Your feelings transcend
contentment, comfort on a quilt on needles of pine,
suffused with kindling sparks that glow into a bloom like wine.
That moment you feel a flaming oneness
as feelings, bodies, thoughts coalesce,
creating in this world so often comfortless,
however briefly, an ecstatic success,
a loosening of the usual restrictions
that ordinarily keep you tied up in inhibitions.
At dusk the meadowlark celebrates with sweet song,
soft spring pine needles plucked by breeze sh-sh evensong.

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