Skip to content


10 August, 2012

Upon the evening we walked

marveling with our eyes and talking.

The sea breathed on the ember of the sun

until it glowed so fiercely that fire swept through the clouds.

In rhythm with the shifting waves, our thoughts

rose and, sinking, pressed upward others near by

(some briefly capped with purity of reason and passion).


There seemed ever more to speak of — histories shared,

the furnishings of secret rooms, paths through wooded hills

in search of faeries and in fear of darkness.


On that walk we became archeologists of the Heart,

the excitement of each discovery releasing an ache

to have been and to be more a part of each other.


And when this had gone on for a time we came softly to awareness

that the sea’s breath had cooled —

that the sky fire had gone —

that what we had been searching for in each other

were the secrets and meanings of our own ruins.


We fell to silent prayer and mourning a while, but there was

soft another awareness that our westward passage had,

none the less,

discovered lands of riches and beauty —

even more, that we shared a passionate quest.


In crystal honesty we embraced one another’s desperation and courage

and walked on.


We would make our own winds — our own fires,

and thus we set to sea.


From → Stories & Poetry

Leave a Comment

Comments and criticisms are encouraged

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: