Moon Tides

 
Perhaps you sleep now.
Perhaps your dreams
have washed
and steeped and
sired the day’s
illusions and events,
deep flows of
one from another,
to a place unknown,
but desired.
The place wherein
I find myself
reflected in
the beauty of your face,
your gentle voice,
your body’s grace.
Solid yet transparent,
an imperfect quartz
slightly opaque,
washed smooth
by aeons and by choice,
by water and by time,
the making of hereafter.
The beach on which
I slake my thirst for you,
(reaching from desire)
forms the shoreline
of your sea,
buoyant to my hopes,
and calms the sand-side me,
the slope of my heart,
buffeted by currents strong,
insistent, fluid, unyielding.
This place wherein
my gritty moment
meets the lasting field
of your whim,
is fitted perfectly,
and has no need
to ever move,
to ever be moved,
only to be moved
by you.
You
the arbiter of tides,
the tugging moon
upon my feet;
soon drawn forward
to the meeting of your will,
and sliding back again,
compliant still to that
which pushes
what I would be,
to what I would become.
And I am whole,
and I am fragile,
and I am temporary,
like the pail-shaped
sand domes on the
infant beaches
of my child mind,
escaping now beyond
my reach I am
waiting for the
yawning waves
which flatten
and which swirl
my drifting random mixture
in patterns and in pearls
closer to your fathoms,
never to be repeated,
in endless repetition,
in wind and wave,
in the restless
brave edges of my being.
Lift me up, my love.
Caress the sands,
the ebb of my life,
sifting through the spaces
of your fingers,
and your hands.
I am yours to have,
and to try to hold.
Linger close and
boldly kiss the water
that suspends me,
and gather what
has scattered that
I am, together.