The Eleventh Year

There is no way I have found to explain your nature,
As I am inclined to believe,
That you are a cut above all that is natural-
Even if you are unaware of it yourself.
(Have you walked on water?
Perhaps you should try.)

My perception of you is detailed,
So great that often times I question your existence-
Not your physical body, which has always been comfortable and real to me,
Like a dear friend, an old accomplice-
My favorite road ripe with turning leaves,
Where I ride on horse back to think and yet be thoughtless,
Like the spot in the river where I once lay for hours,
Listening to the water's opera;
(I remember the very bar of music in which I met you,
Should you ever be inclined to sit there and listen with me someday.)
No none of these things.
But the honey colored glow that has become your definition,
Since I fell in love,
And was given permission to embrace your soul...
Now that does leave me bewildered,
And never lacking curiosity.




For Tristan.