I keep thinking
how Gee will be feeling
pulling my legs
only at night

my brain is flushed
mind is plushed

thoughts of the next moment
some one like usual
will come
and say
how aboutnow
tonight

'tis time
put off the lights
you appear so lovedly bright

let's spend the night
no not in bed
its too warm

let's hasten towards the storm
ere a new dawn is born
and our child
we will have to name
her as Dawn

Surely your poem
was written just for me

because

when I slipped it on
it fit perfectly

and I was transformed
into all the magic

I always wanted to be

The weatherman tells us yet again,
about a stubborn high-pressure ridge
keeping the reluctant showers away.

She always worries about the rain.
Will it be too cold to stand in?
And, of course, will it ever come again?

She wonders aloud to me,
with apprehensive humor,
“Why can’t we find a way
to move the pressure ridge
out into space so the rain can be free
to do as it should?”

Her challenge is how I know
we will be okay together,
because I’ve found someone
whose heart I can’t get out of my head.

Through the eye of the valley
on silent darkened fields
the clouds gather round
unfinished souls are healed

as the light of the moon
falls upon their form
a shimmer in the night
and the veil of time is torn

earthly bonds untied
pooling into the unknown
kneeling on the air
spirits bow to be atoned

glistening mists approach
shining like the morn
resting on their bodies
their spirits finally shorn