Watching day wake across the land,
Sun creeping,
silent,
hill fold lengthening upon hill fold,
I remember when life was new,
when meeting was discovery and touch,
rolling bloom and rest of breath
one upon another,
two together,
bleeding into syncopated music
not for writing down.
And this is how your heart beats, and how mine,
and the stretching ribs and curving neck.
If life becomes new again,
not in difficulty but blessed opening,
in pattern changing expanse,
I’m here, wrapped in soft cloak of yearning,
ready for flush of fresh blood,
spring snowmelt,
to waken me,
Sun brightening mine own hidden contours.
I’m aging like those hills.