To sit, in schedule liberation, with just
traffic hum on a late summer day . . .
could be in any age, grand or common;
site of urban magnificence or jaded
commercial strip, noted only by numbers
of addresses, not shapes or colors or names.
Here I am in a young body or old,
a mind agile or shuffling, heart-song or sighs.
Wealthy to generosity or barely
scraping together for a close shave of the month.
Health the vibrancy of gods or plod-
ing entropy winding out and down to sea.
Such tender love and cherishing of the one
Iíve always wished; that golden-red carnal-
ity of thou touch surpassing shores
of flesh in deeper currentsí intimacies.
Or walking long roads of loss and longing,
children a hope departed years ago.
It doesnít matter, you donít take it to heart,
or mind these any circumstancesóblind
they are. Along with all those wins and losses
in games, campaigns for president and art
of the ages. To the one authentic, even passing
the vasts of wild Natureís mountains and oceans:
the touch-less intact of our fourth, source, dimensionó
beyond soundings in body, in heart, in mind.
With a love drawing whimpers from even the great,
she waits our approach to his portals, that gestalt of androgynous
gaze plays on the hours and our years kindle,
blazing in brilliance of birth to oneís unwavering One.