I have seen the aged givers of destiny flicker,
entertained at my speckled imperfection,
that all I know of great-souled immortality
is, "There, there, the Big Dipper,"
without knowledge of Ursa Major,
now rebuke me with star crossed finality.
A tear hovers on your cheek like a pearl
the mountains vanish against a backdrop
of blue velvet, hope like a smoking lamp fails,
A glance back at a Persian cat
on the windowsill, you at the piano
a still life portrait of eager beauty.
I have heard the gift of water glance
from polished pebbles of my river bed,
the magic sunlight where I found you
fading in the wintry dusk,
the scent of juniper
freshly cut and heavy with rain,
lifts me from this valley of endless leaves
to mountains heavenly with fog
and flowers breaking gates with color.
To have watched the moon from your stairwell,
from a bench made of ancient light,
to have felt the beating of your heart
sounding softly a rhythm of rain,
to have heard the silence of faith
in the shush of a deep night snowfall,
poised at the arch in your garden,
stepping through it, a last kiss,
these are together
the essence of our Winter's Day.
