I can sense the propinquity of your body
by the sound of your peculiar foot-stepping
over fallen autumn leaves, a rather swift gait
rustling and cracking
wind and fire

I can sense the intense closeness of your body
by the way you maneuver through the
stealth choreography of topiary gardens—
a menagerie of hearts gone wild
your favorite kind of petting zoo

It is not long before I sense your entrance
onto this ephemeral stage
and it is not long before
you start dashing behind lions, pigeons,
long-stemmed sweetheart roses—
odd items of bramble that shape
themselves in stagnant play under the
nimble tutelage of a shy gardener’s shears

It is not long before you begin swooning
amidst poppies not long before you expire
a sleek desert wind through fissures
in the bodies of statues

With an air of quaint anonymity
you shift in and out of my field of view
dodging soft corners pretending to
blend into the backdrop of greenery
and landscape fooling only yourself
while the effulgence of your soul
wildly dawns
blinding my eyes from this
garden path of stone

In the mirror of the darkness of the night
when subdued in gentle repose
from the stark agency of day
I visualize the imaginal way in which
we are drawn into one another
I fancy the quick measure of
hiding and seeking between
formal re-introductions
and downward glances that fall
into the safe neutrality of floorboards—
quite an awkward dance we perform
yet it continues to shape the contours
of our souls’ deep longing for return

I chase you bare-chested
and shimmering beneath the
cool shoulder of a twilight moon
whispering after your name
in the clutch of a pressing night
I long to birth any and all configurations
of life inseminated by the pivotal
blueness of your deep soul

In consideration of our proximity both
physically and in terms of the psyche
and all that we have to lose
it is no wonder we are so
utterly drenched in delirium
slipping away in shivers
swinging the gate of the garden
I silently mouth desirous liturgies
gone astray from the mind of God
and it is no wonder we are so
utterly drenched in delirium

composing concertos for guitar and orchestra
conceiving a pedagogy of love and risk
waiting for the birth of this child

(c) 2002