Bound in time immortal,
framed by bricks once placed with hands
whose duty was an honor,
whose will imbued these walls to stand.
To stand, that is, near sweet ones
as they rest in kind repose,
as stoic hallowed border,
by life entrusted, of time composed.
Time composed ‘neath Spanish moss
draped with love in live oak’s arms,
rests bathed in subtle shades of green
blushing in these southern charms.
Charms that whispered life from home,
life across a sea.
Charms that chance relayed an echo
held in life now free.
Held to time immortal,
where once this fading dream was spoke,
will to dust return eternal
‘neath this Spanish moss and oak.
Summer’s rain collects beneath the edge of neon light,
gathered in a rusting pool reflecting sharp the languid night
where only lonely echoes blend last call with none at all,
beckon peace and solace from the last few drops of alcohol.
Cool the stagnant midnight air denies its musk of vapored breath,
sultry in its sticky dew attracts the lonely to a death
of dreams in steaming thunder burst, adrift in late night’s pleasure,
where sordid wisps of booze and flesh tarnish what the hope does treasure.
Beyond it all the pavement sings a wet and whining tune,
stroked by wheels of yellow cabs and puddles thick with summer’s moon
that lay the time to distance across the square through the town,
folds the lonely summer night into its haunts and sleeping gown.
Quiet rends the neon’s buzz to silence with a blink and fade,
leaving only yellow moon reflecting in the puddles made,
where summer’s rain collects in rusting pools at flirting’s stage,
lifting now the errant mask of midnight’s’ lonely cage.
Softly drifts the summer’s hush
that dearly holds the moments still,
while willow leaves, in rhythm captured,
relent to memory’s greater will.
Bathed in scents of summer green,
as waning light gives way to dusk,
through garden’s verdant flush is twilled,
delivered sweet as warm day’s musk,
till here, in rest, retires…
Fresh cut summer grass,
ripened sweet tomato vine,
lavender in burgeoned bloom
adrift the dreams I call as mine.
Upon this season’s moment caught
I poll my histories’ waking,
recall these scents and breezes blushed
amidst the points of my own making…
Imbibe such sweet elixir,
grant my swim into the fold,
here moments passed form truth and treasure
to all the love and life I hold.
Time escapes the days long spent
when phrases languished eloquent
across the air and ether there,
drawn from favorite poems with care.
By your sweetest voice they moved,
the moment caught between us soothed
in sparkled eye and loving glance,
caressing longing hearts, entranced.
Through Shelley, Sidney, Thomas, Croft,
you set the poems of love aloft,
where “kind the moonbeams kissed the sea”,
and questioned, “if thou not kissed me?”
Long hours spent in narrow nooks
in search of treasures, ancient books,
to rise with voice and proudly read
each line to me as lover’s creed.
As time has moved between the gates
of then and now, as dear soul mates,
I count each quiet moment blessed
when still we read our love confessed
in classic lines of verse and prose,
through quivered voice and passion’s throes,
in every poem between us two,
in every moment’s rhyme with you,
my love for you, eternal.