I am tired today. My
heart singing deer songs, doing its own thing. The rest of me, star eyed and
wandering.
My angel is nigh, and
I would flee to the cool sanctuary of his midnight wings to rest for a while
from the sight of things unseen.
But the wind, it
washes me ; these lonely miles of dust and waving grasses, my eyes reflecting
the endless. With nowhere to hide from the wind and its nakedness.
How does one pray,
Suzie, when all prayers turn to dust in your throat?
Let me rest in a
gentler light that which calls. Give me to drink of your sparkling waters,
tasting of moss-mysteries and rose petals. Let me sleep in the shade of your
loving kindness, in bowers where the wind cannot reach, but blows overhead
where it listeth and all is still but for the hum of bees.
Melodies only –fleeting
as clouds –but tis from that shore that I greet you today in Psyche`s melancholy
strain, here amid the cypress trees in the temple of Eris.
Catch then in the cup
of your golden happiness the silvery tears of my ghost, a vision –pool for the
dream of the gods.
Even now, from shore
to shore to yet another shore I rest my
bark of Lapis Lazuli on sands untrodden, my feet crunching the pebbles of
eternity.
In other words
sweetheart…my muse is stirring in her sleep. And I need a hug—long and deep and
slow , to melt there into forgetting .
Aye, but I love you.
-ever your
Indigo
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