Impossible things

Red dust clings

To his moist creases

the crook of his elbow

Behind his ear

Along his collar

I understand this

Longing

For permeation

Predilection

For things that have

muchness

He moves softly with 

Reverence

He knows things that

Were uttered and 

Reverberated in 

Waves washing up

Against her long ago

In the dreaming

He smiles into her open 

Mouth unafraid

He remembers washing down 

Her sides

Watering her gardens 

Gathering above her

Promising life

Running in rivulets

Pooling at her feet

Working gently through her

For she is fine and red

No longer new or young

Either one

So old in fact that

The turnings have become 

Finally irrelevant

At some times dry 

And other times damp

Relativistic

Blurring 

Into starshine bending

Near and far simultaneously 

And my eyes watch him

Slowly gathering in the light

That wraps around him

I listen

             I am she 

Immense

And thus remain a constant 

Within an ever shifting now

He is the one 

Who has always been

For her in her waiting

The sound of his footsteps 

Break upon all her forms

The slight disturbance of air

Caressing her with breath

Small waves eddy upwards

And she gathers them into her 

I would be the shadow 

Falling across his eyes upturned

He is like the sky

And I would wish to reach up and into

To move and stretch into him

Even as he rests 

Within cool air pooling 

At the place where moisture like a secret

Glistens along the edge of silver leaves

He has always been careful

Uncompromising

He has moved along 

The tops of mountains

And lain in valleys 

Arching over them all into 

The least hospitable place

But to him that is nothing

All the while she has watched

Ruddy face upturned

I have waited

To be carried inside

His shirt pocket

Carried against a beating heart

And placed within a hand

That is Her hand 

That is my hand

He had a purity

Like a herons wing

Not I

I was rooted

I pushed up from 

Black cold muck

Unlike this one

Who fell from the sky

With purpose

But tenderly

Stepping into 

The soft fertile

Mud

Peering with one

Jet black eye

Into darkness

Does he see me?

Straining towards

The surface 

Almost 

Unfolding 

One small leaf

And  then

Finally

Thick waxy petals

Pink lotus

Opening

All at once it seems

but only for 

the courage

to fall again

into the soft darkness

You fell into me like 

a warm glistening stone

and as a still body of water

I parted and received

opened

and closed

ripples touching

even the shore

rivulets

pouring across

long ago formed

places of power

made to contain the pull

and sway of so much

almost tender pain

that must be

the way things

find their way

in the dark

I only know these things

as whispered hearsay