Thursday, September 27, 2007

Last Word

The green field
is a given
tho it takes away

light spills
across his path

he loves to
blink and stop
run and recede

the day darkens
in his exceptional run

we live in the names
and the positions of love

a heaven exists
of running on

we still hold something
in the fog
of our morning

2) Less the bolts of lightning
and less the fields
of lazy grass and
less the dog's
own mooring. Loss ejects the
pleasant sound of lost river,
tributary. Scour the landscape,
which the dog
now roams
full and light. Trees poke high
and dive deep. All union fixes
the sky. Our drama recedes
in the quickness of the dog's
run. Focus is our plan.

3) Only so much
room, only so much
love, the candidate
of love and moving on
comes to know
the green field
of perfect light feet.

The way is clear.

Love mentions us
in passing.

4) These days
are filled with night
and poems need
stars to bring
the words to
warm embrace.

The race is to
the end of this day
and the mortal start
of another.

Love connects the two.

5) It was a beautiful sunset.
The moment of touch
prosecuted an homage,
a peace, tender
information of
long green field.
Is it my job
to remember you? It is
my job to hold the space
we held together.
It remains your job
as well.
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