A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.

OLD WINE

I remember knowing
Warmth & desire,
Glowing embers
Of long distant fire,
To share a pillow,
Limbs entwined,
A new flavour
For an ancient wine,
As passion stirs
From banishment,
Wearing
Its ill-fitting coat
Of chastity,
Its wild obsession,
Shunned,
Its myopic vision,
Unwelcome,
Its choicest words
Best left unsaid,
Still unspoken
Inside the head,
Hoisted,
In their own
Eternal wondering,
Perhaps discretion
Is the better friend,
Without beginning,
Or pointless end.


ECLIPSE

Chased
By the shadow of a cloud,
A hair's breadth
From eclipse
By solid darkness,
Liquid gold,
Sweeps across
The vast field
Of time.
Her brush,
Eternity's horizon,
Her medium,
Light,
Framed,
Only
By this moment,
Love's workings
Unfold.

RUN OF THE MILL

Sails turning,
Wheels churning,
The mill complains,
Unaware
That its real yearning
Still remains,
To feel the will
Of water and air.