I

There, September morning mist

Rolling from the forest dew

Unto the open field drifts slow

It flows gently rolling toward me

I am conscious

I am everything in motion

II

Evening in his chair

Listens to the traffic choir

Lulls the concrete bedlam quiet

The choir of the machinery’s

Gentle roar drifts with the breeze

In the distance where the sun has fallen

I hear them whisper in her ear

Something in the darkness stirred them

And she laughs with her friends

Finds me watching and hides

Behind that shooting star

I follow in the dark

Into twilight where aurora

Sews the seams of night

With her brilliance and hues.

III

There are places where I ‘have been and she has followed

But we speak not of them

For in those times

We’d disturb those

Whose flame and thunder had been kept hidden.

The ruckus has kept the gods

Awake too long and men came to be.

These are, still, evenings

When the sounds of the past can be heard

The sound of mountains falling

And of suns rising out of the ground and oceans

And the quiet aftermath

Before the dust settles,

You can see us,

Close, like waters to the shore,

Stars to the night.

Rain to the trees, the sun to the break of day.

Dawn erupts because we are,

She no longer follows

But I pursue her eternally,

Always and the thundering

That beckons for the past.

Whereby we made the universe scream;

I only shudder,

When I think of kissing you.