Thursday, December 01, 2005


Looking for nothing,
escaping the day,
I come upon our pages.
An old manila folder
almost thrown away
so many times,
yet always rescued
contents unread.

I feel the pages
smell them.
Eyes closed,
envisioning their mysteries.

Oh the tides
splashed upon these pages.
Passion never ceasing,
highs and lows
but overwhelming.

At first the letters,
pledges, undying,
meetings planned
written of
in full circle.

The burning within us
with urgency is fed,
consumes, is fed.
We marvel at its power
and forget we are
stripping our hearts
for kindling.

Much later
at the bottom of the folder,
I can sense the poems.
Odes to heartbreak,
to love
to our heroism and