Poem 141: Tenemos

standing on this shore
hip deep in the warmth
of your elemental pocket
the deep slate grey
overcast with its clear wind
is embraced
in the seminal wave
of your hair
and moves perfectly
as a hand to eye gesture
to the wing
and gulled horizons
that spring to mind
as far as the soaring heart
can see the sailing ships
and hailing ghosts
passed out to sea.

Waves sigh as you ripple
and fade in the marry time
where war and fortune
the comedic blend
have famously
always bled for this,
the blighted troth,
and as you bent sadly
on your wounded knee
to no known avail
that only hardened
your resolve
to dutifully escape
and make the cut
now soft
healed inside
the rolling wake
of awake
in the radiant air,
where particles sense
be in the body
-en passio-
the blinding fuse
where fingers touch and
hand in glove resolves
this handling love
as a something,
for nothing held
this lightly
should be this hard to hold.

And in the wake
of the usual panic
that this may be lost
into the song of forgetting
that underlines the score
that scores the underlying
nature and pulling
of this sure line
walking and waking
into this thin shell of a day
to carve the night time
enough to bleed
the shadows of the moon
into praise of the tallow holding
of the wick bright candle
in the rocking thigh
that cabins
the fevered pillow dancing
leaves softly moving shadows
in the frame of the light house
to lightship the sound
swelling the beached sun
to run aground
on trampled earth
to perfect a tear
in the fabric of the veil,
as out of the templed wind
endlessly flapping
as the falcon bridge islands
bead light
into the harbour sealed.