Close: A Poem

Two sets of open lips

Touching gently in the dawn

Two sets of lungs

Exchanging life in their breaths

Two pairs of hands

Clutching desperately to the moment

Two hearts

Beating out the rhythm of the clock

That will tear them apart

Though they are woven together

Like the threads of the blanket over them

But they are able weavers

And, in time, they will mend.

Flight: A Poem

To fly is a strange and mysterious thing.

Man presumes to have found its secrets

To have pulled back the veil

Revealing the simple man behind the wizard

But there is more to a miracle

Than what the eyes can tell.

To fall is no such mystery.

It is a common and effortless act

The true simplification, however,

Is that faith is not required for one to fall.

Living in Memory: A Poem

Our days together are like memories

We grasp at them, hoping to find them real

But knowing we live as in a dream

With our parting imminent.

And yet, to part will then be natural

For we wills till have our memories

We wills till have our dreams

And in them, we can live as we do now.

And we will only be apart

When we wake.

[This and the two following posts are poems written during my lunch breaks while working in Yellowstone this summer.]