Once, hand in hand, I walked this way before
with one desire, who set out to deceive.
I now deplore the thought of any encore
that may, one more time, cause my heart to grieve.

So it must surely come as no surprise
I struggle to resist the warmth I feel.
I turn to face you, look into your eyes,
preparing to deny my love is real.

But in their depths I see the glint of tears
as fresh and virtuous as morning dew.
They wash against my heart, subdue my fears,
and promise me enchantments all anew.

Asylum's Height

through
earth and sky
ever flowing in tune
with the portals
connecting dimensions
coupling heart with mind
measuring breath
for heartbeat

Silence
hung between
mountain reflections
beyond practiced
night
massive windows emerged
...slowly...
imperceptibly
between thick snow clouds
the pillows of ubiquity

You yourself poet
have belled the cat
very few,
including me,
understand the riddles
behind camouflaged poesy
so beautiful
and
a pussy,
I still see from the rear balcony,
as dogs with open lashing tongues
erase moments of ecstasy
awaiting their turn,
to take on
while others are at it
this was my impression
but you beat me.

A poet is one ,
who says what?
and
so many ask why?

The woodbine decorates its host in yellow
but gay blossoms cover its true intent
as it attempts to choke the little tree
or at the least leave it twisted and bent

Young tree accomodates its tormenter
by bulging bark between the ropy vine
which tightens as the growing tree gains girth
it's mere luck this tree's not a soft barked pine

This alder I spotted beside a road
on verge of death as its starved leaves browned
I cut and freed it from its stranging foe
a helical staff I now tote around