Perhaps it shall be one such moment
of muted breezes scented with the lurking rain
like an old friend that urges me to write a poem.
And out of the island
of this weary solitude you shall awake.
As I shall unveil the forgotten you
sketching you in the canvass
of my poetry.
And within the chasm
of my slow thoughts
I shall hold you
Like I hold the slow tapping
of your little fingers on my palm
your tilted eye brows when you worry
even your muffled laughs
Like I hold within me the faith in words
the charm of a verse
And the profound sense of fulfillment
that poetry provides me.
And in the midst of my all too crowded thoughts
shall you be like a smudged body
melted into soul and brewed into page.
And if I then offer you a nest,
Shall you reside as the lost sleep of my eyes?