From the collection, Beginnings © 1991


Walking across a hilltop

Within the dark July evening,

I turn upwards to peer at the antiques.


They radiate like gods:

Red — orange — blue.


You stand looking

With crystal-reflected eyes

And I know the stars are yours, too.


Dawn droplets on a breeze blown web,

And a clear spectrum sunset;

Autumn leaves of

Red — orange — burgundy.


“May time pause for all of these,” you say.

But I will be here with you

until the end of time …


Let diamonds be your eyes

and I will gaze with wonder.


Let the stars be your bed

and I will sleep there.


return to A Museum of Thought


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: