Where has the glowing temple gone
whose walls like hand prints always warm
where morning whispers last till dawn
and incensed perfume lingers on.
Where tanned walls in the sunshine glimmer
revealing sculptured stories there,
moments like forgotten scripture:
familiar hearts decisive stare.
Where close enough to feel you feel
and mean the things at three am.
Sounds of poetry spilling out of blank sheets
one breathes out and one breathes in.
Where lines without a subject written
help to find things to remember.
Warmth felt from a distance on a
summer day in late September.
Gentle words from darkness captured
no one truly but the sun, turn to face
what one has wished for; eylids open
and its gone

I’m blessed I touched a hummingbird
it brought to me the sweetest flower
it laid there in my hand to rest and
feel the sunshine for an hour, the
wings it spread in perfect rhythm
floating easy before my eyes
in every curve a simple greatness
each pattern bright and dignified

the scent of petals, smooth, the shine
her body moves in perfect time,
lepidolite, lepidolite sparkles
even in the night. Oh, feathered stubble
how you express, without such words
and natural dress. A place where thoughts
can breathe again. In and out and out and in
to sense once more, this abstract theme
stay close but fly
and let me dream

I am blind without you
yet others think I see.
Painting pictures, as did
ancient Greek astronomers,
of things they didn’t know, and
lights they could never reach.
Knowing there was absolute
beauty and knowledge there.
All I can see now, staring into
any distance, are two people sitting
on a bench staring across the ocean.
One thinking about writing this poem
sometime, hopefully not
too soon.
It ends, seeing is recalling
what was worth remembering.
Sitting there, staring at the ocean