We were like two lightening bolts coming together. . .  

“I’m afraid if I let my passion go, I’ll destroy it all” he said, driving down the mountain –
windshield iced over, frosting inside. . . near dawn.

“You don’t have to feign passion for me”, I assured, thinking he had.

Scraping the ice off, shaking his head, he answered “I don’t have to feign passion for you – I
have to contain passion for you”.

With  feet up on the dash, speeding through the desert night
while I drank white  wine out of the bottle, I offered, “You know, a lot of the love I
feel for you is very familial but some is incredibly carnal, so I was wondering. . . 
I mean I know I say I’m trying to get off the wheel this time and all but,
if I don’t or something. . . . I mean. . . .in some life or other . . . could we get married?

He said “Yes” and we laughed and were comfortable.  It still was not easy but easing. He was
now not only family but my betrothed.  I became more willing to give him up to the future and
the past.


I see your Eyes
The strength they hold.
They are steady, multifaceted.
The eyes of the actor, the artist,
the soldier, the child, 
the dancer, the madman,
the yogi, the lover, the poet.
And all these pairs of eyes
are facets of the ever-steady diamond eyes
of the whole You.
I hold them steady in my mind’s eye.
They hold me steady.


Believing we are together in our hearts – the bonding is complete and we have only to purify our
love: separation, purification = the alchemy of life.

I lie, staring into darkness, seeing your eyes as they were one instant over supper – when I had to
look away.
Longing, ever painfully longing to be held.
Solar plexus cramping with desire
I try to still the mind.
I feel you arrive
your colors and aroma envelop me
a warm blanket of serenity

all thinking ceases (we are complete)
I sleep.


The Muse appears – arabesquely dancing in a desert ocotillo or reclining on oaken arm in a dense
Maine wood.
In his heart, a man would seek her, court her, chase her but
finding himself face to awesomely beautiful alabaster face, might pull his eyes down and away. . .and walk.
Better to play it safe.
For fear of being lost forever
Shipwrecked on the rocks
Better to force the eyes down and walk away
Better to play it safe.


Many people have passed through my life for a moment . . . seldom to be thought of again.
You are not one of them.
You struck a chord so deep, it still resounds
and I am hungry for conscious soul communication.