Next Last Ripe Paradigm

From the point of view of water
trees arouse a sense of accomplishment
give and give and see so little
greenery and then all of a sudden.

Through the lean years many
awkward moments stumbled
I was vague, you were diffident
feet in clay and lips indifferent
to marching beyond mumbling.

Compliments of too much sunshine
all the Spring-like promise is wasted away
without substance accumulating
perhaps it will require another year.

All summer I dug long ditches
I labored wisely and with diligence
on both sides to maintain balance
so that the middle would rise in the fall.

When our energy was orbital
our hands were out seeking
the joining of the slow with fast
was it marriage or an investigation
into the suicide of the past?

In bed or on a hand-in-hand walk
the drought kisses the flood on the neck
there is my time and then there is your time
the grasses wave in the windy paradigm.

Are you listening from beyond the page?
We wish you were angelic in duty
put a finger down or stage a play
the last scene being a prayer to beauty.


About mrsorenson

NOT my president
This entry was posted in love, poem, poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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