Love Never Sleeps

THE JOURNEY

Time tumbling
after time,
fingers clasped
together
in motion,
on wheels,
on game trails,
stepping lightly,
running,
with the sun captured
in the chestnut
of your hair,
and the fruit sweet nector
of your mouth
smothering mine;
in the islands,
in the woods,
in the rain,
speeding over the concrete,
crouching in spring foilage,
kissing clover;
both doors of my black coupe open
as we hug and sway
midst the heat of the day,
with things growing
in the gravel
by a tiny stream;
two flowers in the mire;
one for you.

We traveled together,
mind and bodies
pausing
neath the Needle,
near Olympus,
walking in the clouds,
tasting the fog
on our hot tongues;
walking in parks,
strolling quietly,
away from the others,
as I stared
into your big brown eyes,
so full of pain and love,
harkening to the voices
within,
now awakened.

One sad day
you spent with someone else,
and in a whirl of motorcycle wheels,
and an impact with a steel girder,
there was
a maiming of flesh,
and a future fight for equalibrium,
with your fingertips
just beyond my reach.

I journeyed South
first,
and you followed,
for different reasons;
but I can see you there
midst the shimmer of mirage,
moving toward me,
your figure changing,
undulating deep
in the heat waves.

I am not a desert creature,
rather I am
a man of the mountains,
a creature of the forests;
but I reside here now
in the absoluteness of sand
and blandness of sea.

And as luck would have it,
you will be joining me,
separated by a mere hundred miles.

Your face is turned South,
and that is good;
my heart needs a stanchion,
and the moors needs a rose.


Glenn Buttkus 1967