It is in the observation

It is in the observation

And the interpretation

Of events.

How the mundane

Can be captured

The extraordinary

And catastrophic

Graphically portrayed,

In ways that create

A connection between us,

For just the moment

It takes to read,

And oft times a little longer.

If you were here

It would be easy

To relay feelings,

With a touch or a glance,

The cock of an eyebrow,

The slow exhalation

As tension is released.

Perhaps we could be

Caught in the same moment,

When I smile

At the memory

Of your milky smooth skin,

Dappled in soft,

Leafy sunlight,

Slipping in and out of sight

As you run through

The trees,

Chasing a butterfly,

Dancing in the shadow

Of a silver birch,

Hugging the trunk,

Lost in the pleasure of simplicity.

You would catch your breath

When cold thoughts surface

From between the cracks

In life.

Where broken hearts and teardrops,

Barely mend,

Still, in truth and tribute

You will find me.

And then you will know

As much as there is

About how such

Fractured words are born.

Carried on a wistful stream

Of conscious thought

That can so easily be lost,

Drowned by an upsurge

From the darkling void

Of unguarded thinking,

The undercurrent of a deeper,

Bottomless well,

An intuitive pain

That seems to pull

Me away from safety,

Drag me from the shallows,

Unto the depths of history.

Will you then understand

Any more than I,

The why’s and wherefore’s

Of this strange mystery.

This beguiling temptation

And addictive need

To scratch and scribe

In silent isolation.

Even as the life I

Am thankful to live

Evolves around me,

In the hope it will remain

And wait in patient

Understanding,

Until I find a way to be

One alone.

And still,

With you, play a part,

In a much bigger

More sustaining whole.

In truth,

That happy nirvana,

Will always be

My final goal.