We lent my old mans truck filled that monster up, and headed southwest across the border. In wellington wet walks your face shone a smile. With red wine and firelight I know a part of heaven my eyes have seen. Raindrops on the ifor ping, in Swallow falls I am aware love is strong. I am here whether right or wrong. In a poem, in a kiss, right now there isn't anything I miss. I could hold you here forever but for now that will do. Best thing about me here is you.
These waters constrain our memories of Lapa and the way their ancient falls sparkled from your eyes. We were lost in those mountains but we found ourselves dancing in the garden of angels with just grape vine for shelter. I whispered a prayer into the warm night air, you laughed, I dropped to my knees I smiled at how beautiful you looked in the candle light.
I will sleep peacefully with these thoughts in my old mans truck.
Through the window and next to me
graciously landing a flawless white feather.
Like on the morning of her funeral
with the same strength forcing me to pause,
calmly, needing no applause.
Reassurance those armies he built are falling.
Pirouettes in the breeze there all along
even when I was crawling.
Alas a resistance of a campaign of struggle
spoken was the truth, verity, an end.
Brings a platitude of power,
like poems for a friend.
I was close to death but those closer.
A messenger of God even Michael much more
than a carer.
Remembering prayers of trust not tainted with why.
Nazareth be nigh!
High into the mystic I soar.
Attend and hear observe and behold,
digest the trumpets and wait for Gabriel,
pronouncing durability into the unstable.
I drop, arms stretched into the smoke that thunders,
soaked in love I resurface with the skulls of kings.
I have faith in the one He sent and I accept
what this feather of paradise brings.
