Tuesday, June 21, 2016

drowning without regrets (scanned notebook)

You are the bird I hear each
morning when I wake, a call
that stirs me up from dreams
not sweet so much as
compelling as I toss aside
the covers and rise.
You are the whisper of the leaves
rustling with the night breeze,
a whisper in ears I strain
to catch, aching to under-
stand just what is said, and
I cannot sleep for the pain of it.
You are the sound of rain I
hear midday when I am alone
on my porch, the forlorn
song of loneliness I cannot
cure, the desire to leap
under and drench
myself in the flow and
know down deep what you are,
You are the howl of wind I
hear when I ache most, the
sire of the deep I plunge
into the dark to
find, my moans an echo
to yours as I rise and
fall, this tide in which I
drown and never regret it.

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