Longing.

Longing

I long to go where the white geese go,
with wings like magnets, drawn outward
and onward by the wild.

I dream to climb the tallest redwood I can find
and scan for miles ‘cross sprawling lands,
pellucid, translucent- rough and sassy seas.

I yearn to see, under my bare, worn feet,
a constant sense of a glorious, Spring,
like the giggling stream over tawny stones
where Celandines shine and mossy banks shall sing.

I ache to hear the Cuckoo call
from distant coppice in rough, raised field,
where Barn Owls too-wit to their other’s too-woo
as sounds of Debussy’s harmonies yield
such light, in the fullness of the orb, for you.

For my desire, shall forever be,
that you alone shall pass, with me.
And there, between our quickened lips
does raise the breath of passion’s warmth,
these timeless, ticking, holy hands,
where life’s encumbrances melt
and Love now, magnificently stands.

Till then, my dreaming shall so deep and languid be,
of Hope for all and all that Life gives back to me.

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