In the Birdsong Morning

Preface

These "love words for a lovely muse" were scribbled into my journal over several years and have been organized here as seasons of love through a single year ... late springtime to springtime, renewal to another renewal.... They are the least literary of my writing. Each piece captures an inspired love-moment, and is presented in its raw form, mostly unedited. Coyote refers to these works as "love unleashed."

Some of the pieces have erotic moments but eroticism has never been my primary inspiration for writing them. Each word bubbles up from the depths of love. Eventually, many of the words will find new homes in new writing.

— Thomas Doty

* * * * *

May 28

Outside, two black rigs rest side by side.
Inside, we are two light-hearted sweethearts-to-be
sharing a hug at the door that draws us back,
a sweet kiss, breath as tender as the spring breeze
through the trees, as warm and as hopeful.

Through several dreamlike days
springtime blossoms and shines, full of our desires,
drawing us back from each contemplative pause,
slowly putting the cold nights behind us.

Cautiously, we walk from a warm embrace
into the damp warmth of a morning in May.

Frogs. A race for a train. Breathless as love.
Talk over uptown Italian coffee -- how urban --
the Columbia as wide as our gaze into each other's eyes.
A shelter in the deep woods, in the rain,
where we turn back to kisses.

Quickly, places make a list of names.
We match our footsteps back to each one,
each time fresh with a deeper sharing:
Ridgefield, Rock Creek, Sauvie Island, Tryon Woods,
the Willamette waterfront, the Audubon shelter in the forest --
refuges for the critters and for us.

Outside, we get to know each other.
Inside, we share another sweet kiss.

* * * * *

June 14

In the birdsong morning,
as I wake and think of you,
my thoughts follow us
through the speckled sun
and shade of a Cascade forest.

We pause along the trail
and share a luscious kiss
in the spray of a waterfall ...
a moist moment of eternity
in the summer woods.

* * * * *

June 19

You gaze at a photo of the rock
and know you want to go there.

Big Wocus calls to you and you hear her.

First, we wind our way up the Rogue
to blue, blue Crater Lake, as deep as
the possibilities we are feeling.

We kiss in each place to make it our own.

We cross the marsh green with pond lilies
and I notice your eyes turn greener.
We ease up the slope and stop the rig
under the giant pine. You get out first.

You don't walk up to the rock at Big Wocus.
She draws you in. I glance up and you are there,
in the hug of the cliff, your eyes on the dancers
painted red and blue-green under the overhang.
Your desire to get close takes the fence from your sight,
and you feel her heart, and the whispers of her stories
that sift through centuries to right here, right now.
You journey into the presence of yourself.

I walk up behind you and wrap my arms around you,
and I feel the rock move closer to us, a breath away.

We pause before sharing words, listening to the rock,
and the woods around her, watching the dancers.

We drive home in moonlight,
inside our intimate conversation,
up the ridge to Dragonfly Place.

Tonight is your first night in my home.
Stars wink through the window and invite you in.

* * * * *

June 20

In the first shadows of morning
my memory reaches for moments.
Your words caress my soul.
Your love-touch sends me floating.

With the rising sun, our path
reappears for a moment. Your
shadow steals into the day. I pray
and watch for the light in your eyes.

* * * * *

June 22

I touch you with passion
as love's words whisper
music, and restless breaths
flow into pure water.

A love-scented stream
trickles down your
brushstroked beauty
to the humid source
that is sacred in love.

Finger-tip touches
are summer breezes
that caress and tease,
and warm lips fuel
the heat of your heart.

From a deep place
too old for a name
a response wells up
and swells the stream.

We become a river,
a love-force flow,
rushing, tumbling,
crashing of waves,
stretching to the sea.

Stars, moonlight, silence.

Summer breeze drifts in.

Cuddled calm and close,
warm lips sharing breaths,
intertwined and resting,
love-scented and perfect.

* * * * *

June 26

On the grassy bank of the Klamath River
you are more lovely than the landscape,
your hair wispy, wild in the summer wind,
your eyes river-green, liquid with passion.
I explore your beauty beneath a willow that sways
and dips her boughs into the pulse of the river.
Your fingertip touch travels the path to my heart
as we caress and cuddle and flow into love.

* * * * *

June 27

Mister Bear lumbers out of the trees,
pauses on the road and looks our way.
He crosses the gravel and lumbers
back into the shadows of the woods.

In our glimpse of that brown-eyed gaze,
we are drawn to the forest, to the green
breath of the trees, and to each other.
Like Mister Bear, we want to go deeper in.
We peer long into each other's eyes and kiss.
Our toes tingle. We feel the ancient roots
of redwoods push another inch into the soil.

* * * * *

June 28

Your first birthday in southern Oregon.
All through breakfast at Green Springs Inn
I gaze longingly into your forest-green eyes.
I feel blessed with your sweet love, your friendship,
lucky that we found each other, excited by what
I am learning from you, thrilled by our passion.
I feel whole inside this inner journey we share,
connected heart to heart, soul to soul, as we saunter
through each of our worlds, visiting what matters.

After breakfast, at Cottonwood Glades, we hold
each other in the meadow along the creek, our kisses
serenaded by the morning songs of a hundred birds.

* * * * *

June 28

I wish you sweet blessings
on your fiftieth birthday ...
lighthearted days of sunshine,
starry nights soft with love,
seasons of passions and fancies,
strummed music in your soul.

I honor your vibrant spirit,
your deep and gentle beauty.
On this day made for you,
may your prayers draw breath
and another half-century be yours.

* * * * *

July 2

This is my first night all night in your home,
my arms fully around you, your lovely shape
starting to feel familiar and still drawing me
into more gentle explorations and sensations
that marry touch with the lovely lure of new love.

Stars flare through the skylight, circling
the universe and coming home again.

As I drift toward dreams of you and us,
I think back through the journey of our day....

Breakfast in a mountain lodge in Washington,
a walk along the forested shore of Conboy Lake,
listening to the wind blow through the aspens
and to the barking of Canada geese on the refuge.

We visit ancient rock writings on Horsethief Butte
high above the Columbia River, a quiet, sacred
place in the wind where our spirits touch and soar.

We share love on the banks of the Klickitat,
kisses and hugs and caresses and eye gazes
near the soothing sounds of water you love so well.

We share sadness hearing the bitter words
from a native fisherman who assumes
he understands us by the color of our skin.
He says we know nothing of the salmon.
In the end he wants us to pay for our guilt.
This shared sorrow touches our hearts
and we feel closer, as lovers and as friends.

We cross the Columbia back into Oregon
and climb Rowena Crest, and again feel free
in the blustery wind, high above the gorge.

We journey through the damp shadows
of the rainforest. We embrace in the spray
of Multnomah Falls -- again, the music of water
fills your soul. We drive down the old highway
to dinner in Portland and on to your home.

I cuddle up closer to you, so close
I hear your heart as it slows toward sleep.
Under stars that circle through the night,
I thank the spirits for this day with you,
for your kisses and our growing love.

I step into a dream, hoping to see you there.

* * * * *

July 13

We walk the sacred labyrinth together,
step after step toward the center
in the afternoon light of a summer day.

Each step reshapes a backward step
from shadows of these past few months.
Each heavy breath is ferried by the breeze
to join mountain air, blown back
for us to share, to lightly breathe.

Outside after inside, we hold each other
close. Each touch is a new caress, each
kiss a tiptoed journey to somewhere newly
light, easy with Cascade breezes, a dawn
in the afternoon light of a summer day.

* * * * *

July 24

Over five years after our first water trek
we paddle the marsh on a summer evening.
Clouds build and spiral over the mountains,
later to erupt in flashes and cracks of lightning,
booms of thunder, and an Ashland downpour.
But in this moment the basin air is quiet, still,
lazy and languidly warm. The sun is a summer
caress. We stop paddling and float in open water.
Yellow blooms on green pads of wocus follow
the curves of the shore. I reach forward and trace
the nape of your neck with a touch as tender
as a slow-motion ripple across the taut skin
of the marsh. The kayak rocks us into a waking
calm, a deep-breathed verge of timeless ease.
We whisper words of love. Our self-made ripple
nudges the kayak toward the wocus. We dip
our paddles and head home toward the storm.

* * * * *

July 31

A love out of reach
still warms my soul.
I watch the horizon
with a wakeful heart.

A cloud at sunset,
fire-red and orange,
pales and dissolves
in the cool breeze.

* * * * *

August 6

Walking among the vision cairns at Oak Flat
is the native echo of my hand upon your heart,
and yours upon mine ... a journey deep inside.
Walking through old growth we become old souls.
Our gentle breath is the summer breeze that flows
between medicine trees, our footsteps the sacred
arrangement of rocks in spirals and circles, our
pulsing blood the rushing of the clearwater creek
in the canyon far below. We pause and savor
this ancient moment, our hearts ever-present,
drumming a shared rhythm that we know is us.

* * * * *

August 7

Most days
I dream and bring us together.
You warm my heart as we embrace
the deepest joy that matters.

I hear your voice:
Love follows a different path.

Each day
I touch a memory and see you.
My innermost eyes are clear.
I am in spirit with you and me.

I hear your voice:
You hold me too close to let go.

Some days
I wish I could empty my soul,
give you everything I have hidden,
my sorrows, my shadows, my fears.

I hear your voice:
Seven years, seven years, seven years.

One day
I curse the existence of speech.
Imagine that. And me a worder!
Something about it feels clean.

I hear your voice:
I'm a fanciful dream in your poems.

On this day
I cleanse my world of words
misspoken and misunderstood.
What is left is a blameless truth.

In the quiet I hear our hearts:
What matters, what matters, what matters.

* * * * *

August 9

My love for you
never stops flowing.
Like the Rogue River
at Boundary Springs,
born at the source,
it bubbles into beauty.

It flows deep and clear
for the length of a life.

Challenges along the way,
rocks, waterfalls, dams,
these are swirled past,
washed clean and forgiven
in the spirit of flowing
for love that never ends.

* * * * *

August 10

Despite my many mistakes
I've always been faithful
in my love for you.

You're the most beautiful
woman I have ever known.
I love you forever.

There. It is said. From here,
that's all I can say or know.
All else is a tender memory
or a dream in the moonlight.

* * * * *

August 18

After stories in the mountains
I drive the road to Crater Lake
along the path we took a year ago
around the north rim to our place.

Your spirit settles close to mine,
more beautiful than the moon.
We sit on the rock wall. I watch
the magic glitter in your eyes,
feel the fullness of your love.
I whisper what I should have said
last year. "I want this forever."

I drive around the rim and walk
down the path behind the lodge.
On our bench in the midnight air
I sense the warmth of you near me.

I feel nothing but love for you,
nothing but love, nothing but love.
I reach for what matters, pick it up,
and carry it home through the night.

That full-moon summer night a year ago
we shared and loved, slept and dreamed.
Tonight I imagine you here, sleepy-eyed.
I hear your breathing slow as you relax,
stretching out in the bed, getting cozy.
I hold you close and kiss you goodnight
and dream you are here in the morning.

* * * * *

August 21

On this morning of summer sun,
I feast on your beauty as we walk to
Boundary Springs. I hold you in my arms
at our first stop along the river -- a view
upstream of logs across clear water,
green forest fringing stark white slopes
of ash, blue and white water tumbling
through the canyon. A kiss. A touch.
With you close I enjoy the view. I have
both of my dreams within reach: you
and the landscape. Your eyes and
the depths of green forest have their
passion-grasp on my heart. I feel love.

I have noticed that when you listen
to singing water your body also sings
liquid. Your eyes flow sweetly, your
kisses wet and deep.... Moistness has
its passionate hold on every curve of
your honeyed presence. I cannot kiss
or touch you enough at these times.

Boundary Springs does this and more.
Not since Big Wocus have I seen a
place touch you this deeply. She sings
to your soul and your spirits touch.
I remember wondering that if I later
returned to the springs on my own,
the sound of the river might be gone,
having left with you that day, a river's
lullaby tucked forever in your heart.

That night, our togetherness finds
a liquid rhythm that is the river flowing,
the sound of water over rocks, absorbed
by moss. I knew you brought it with you!
We drink our love, drink more, and dream.

* * * * *

August 25

In the dim dusk
I stretch my legs.
In distant woods,
past what I know,
are untrod paths.

Moon waxes new
to full. Each slow
step feels lighter,
each bend closer
to love I desire.

* * * * *

September 6

All day you squirm in delight, mostly,
damp with longing, on the happy brink
of an erotic breakdown, from Galice to
Bear Camp to Agness, down the Rogue
and down the coast to Harris Beach.

Waves collide and crash over rocks,
churning, pulled back to the sea.
You are restless for lust, alive in love,
on the rocky edge of a love-crazy cliff,
pulled between a grimace and a grin.
Your eyes are wide, more blue than
green, as invariably wild as the sea.

The first clothing you toss are sandals.
My first glance at your toes in sand
tugs on my tongue, a temptation I tuck
into my memory for months, to a time
when there is less sand and less heat,
and candlelight glows softly romantic.
I wait to explore your toes until drawn
by gentle light where I offer a gentle kiss.

This summer day the light is harsh,
reflected up from sand, raw on the
white log where we sit on the beach,
our sweaty hearts dripping, yearning,
my fingers tugging your top, my mouth
arousing your breasts with sea-surging,
sand-parched, deep-drawing drinks of
love. We are primal, reckless, thirsty,
as if a moment lost would drive all love
into the waves, away from us forever.

We gush to the edge, draw back, sigh ...
and simmer an hour in sea-deep kisses.

This scene is softened as we saunter home,
each time more delicate, a kiss in the damp
shadows of the redwoods, a love embrace
in the star-lit night on Oregon Mountain,
just enough to take us home where sleep
gives love a chance to catch her breath.

As the light of morning draws us back,
you say, "You wear me out. I love it!"

* * * * *

September 12

I allow myself to float in nothingness.
The landscape falls away -- not easy
for a sense-of-place poet. With horizons
gone from view, my world swells with
what I sense within myself. I find passion
for my art and the healing it invites. I find
my love of wandering through story worlds,
listening to the tales of folks who live there.
I gaze deeper. I journey into a place where
the beating of my heart booms and echoes
through my soul like an ancient tribal drum.
Beyond what I have known, beyond words,
in the center of what is left when exterior
pulses fade into silence, I find the essence
of you and your spirit, your green eyes smiling,
arms open for the hug that welcomes me home.

* * * * *

October 20

Tonight I visit my shadow thoughts.
They stamp and scream, push and shove.
Can you believe that woman? She bolted
when you were ill and not yourself.
Why not ask, "What's wrong, my dear?
May I help?" Instead: "I'm outa here!"
No parting hug for the years you shared
your souls through ebbs and flows.
Love wore a flimsy mask that night.

This visit is brief and just enough.
She's miles away and gone for good.
"Yes, for good," echoes the shadow.

As dawn brings birdsongs and calm,
a golden light steps into my heart.
Desiring a passionate kiss, Love
removes her mask and turns my way.
On this day, the sunrise is gorgeous.

* * * * *

October 21

Starlight in the night sky
is the glitter in your eyes
beside me, wrapped in love.

The fall breeze wisping through
red and brown leaves is the breeze
in your hair as we walk along the creek.

The gentle curve of the landscape
is the womanly curve of your thigh
I trace with my fingertips.

We both come from the earth,
but you especially, a woman.

You are Grandmother, Mother, Lover ...
in this moment, and from the beginning.

I hold you in my arms, and I hold the universe.

* * * * *

October 22

No blinding moon tonight.
We see beyond the stars
to where we are. Eyes
embrace a midnight moment.
Starlight softens our sleep.

* * * * *

November 7

Each morning at sunrise
I sing my shadow song
and then a second verse
for you, my shadow self....

My dearest, come home.
The sun is nearly here.
Come over the mountains,
come home through the valleys,
come home through the morning mist.
Cross over the rivers and creeks,
come spend this day with me.
I want to grow old with you.
My dearest, come home.

This is my hope, my dream,
my ceremony for myself.

Then I say other prayers
for your happiness, your health,
for the strength of your heart,
for the blazing fire of your love,
for your children, your friends,
for those you love and hold dear....

This is my ceremony for you.

I pray for you again in the evening
as the sun slips over the ridge.
Night shadows visit Dragonfly Place
and I go inside and light your candle.

* * * * *

November 11

With the first mountain snow,
my wispy picture of you barefoot,
beach-clad, sun-sexy in a sun dress,
hangs in the shadows of my mind.

On a night as long as winter,
your firey eyes flare and flash.
Heavy blankets wrap us into
a nest of cozy desires.

By morning we've had time
to share our deepest dreams,
time for touches to make
heat that defies the season.

By morning we've had time enough for love.

* * * * *

December 1

The first time I placed my hand on your heart
I knew that was where I wanted to be,
to repeat that caress with more care each time
until I could feel your heartbeat matching mine.
I knew I wanted to learn how to touch you deeply
as our spirits grew together.

It was easy to show you my special places.
There were so many, and you were new
to my native world. While those saunters
took us to landscapes named on a map,
you showed me places within, more precious
than anywhere I have ever been.

Like creeks and rivers flowing into one,
your touch, your breath, the thump of your heart
merged with the whirl of leaves falling in autumn,
the music of water at Boundary Springs,
and the first place you shared of your own ...
the still, timeless silence of Malheur Mar.

I place my hand on your heart
and our spirits flow together.
My heartbeat seeks yours out
and shares its rhythm.
I want to feel these depths
as I grow old with you.

* * * * *

December 5

As I begin to create this poem
I am alone with the candle I burn for you.
As each word forms and speaks to me
I hear your voice. You become my muse.

There is no word that does not shout
to every speck of our story, each moment
of silence between each kiss, each whisper.
I signed up for them all. This poem moves
down its path after a night of delicate dreams
and warm candlelight ... my thoughts of you.

Sunrise is orange and pink and mauve.
I hear your voice, and journey deeper.

I step outside and feel inside of myself.
Mister Jackrabbit hops down the driveway,
the bluejays scold me for interrupting
the taunts and jibes and jokes
they aim at Grey Squirrel, a crowd
of puffed-out chickadees and juncos
await my morning offering of seed.
A redtail soars over the trees, watching
the ravens closely. A lone deer browses
across the meadow and into the pines.

The ridge is crowded this morning.
With a pang of longing, and a desire
to share the beauty of this place with you,
I write these words and head down
the hill and into my day. Your candle
burns inside of me, even in the sun.

* * * * *

December 7

Deep within, our hearts of love
and sensual passion beat as one.
These not-quite-identical twins
are devine and earthly companions
we desire to know. I hear the intimate
voice of your spirit whisper sweetly
to my soul. Aroused, I gently extend
the gesture with a caress, a light touch
of my fingers across your swelling breasts,
my mouth upon your mouth, my tongue
tasting the erotic echoes of your words.

* * * * *

December 9

I am half a century old today, a swift step
into a new turn in my life, a sharper
focus on my art, a deeper way to share
words and feelings, joy and love and grief,
a renewed appreciation of those close to me
and the many who make my life so rich.
I dream often of growing old with you
but today I am alone, facing myself instead.
The gift I wish for myself is to touch your heart.

I write in my journal about my birthday,
scribbling on the page where I wrote of us
and a love moment we shared in the woods.
I write in my journal and let go of more words.
I write in this poem and remember your love.
My burdens don't feel much lighter today.
Grief teeter-totters with an eerie dawn of calm
as I miss sharing this special day with you.

I walk downstairs and outside onto the deck
and I say my prayers in the first light of the day.
I look back through the window and see you
sitting in your favorite chair near the fire.
We gaze lovingly into each other's eyes
for a moment, and then you are gone.
The chair -- your "healing place" -- is empty.

* * * * *

December 21

I look for the light.

For weeks the nights have been long.
I walked paths I made of darkness,
so lightless I could not see my fears.
At the last blind turn I found your fire.
Sparks flashed between us. In the light
I peered into shadows for the monster
I saw crouching in my pitch-dark dream.
Nothing there. This cranny was empty.
We walked to where we found the sun.

I look for the light.

On this solstice night on the ridge
I imagine you here. We light a lamp.
Light dances on the walls, opens
windows into the winter night,
tiptoes past shadowy trees, steps
long dance-steps down the valley, fills
this longest night with a festive glow.
Lamplight blazes in your tender eyes.
I feel your warmth. I gaze into my soul.

I look for the light.

* * * * *

January 2

I wake from a dream of loving you,
wrapped in our cozy embrace, our
bodies swelled with one another's love,
our spirits whispering their depths one
to the other, my fingertips of one hand
with slight pressure on your throbbing
heart, the edge of that hand against
the gentle curve of your lovely breast,
my other hand nestled in your delta
of moist, soft hair ... both hands a
memory of where my fingers and my
tongue spent half the night, giving
and receiving love, guided by our
hearts and souls. Waking up, still
sleepily floating in my dream, I realize
reality. I kiss you once with passion
that knows no boundaries, once with
love that will flow forever, and once
more to let you and my dream go away.

* * * * *

January 2

When I am near you -- or even think of you -- my skin hums.

* * * * *

January 5

The chickadees and juncos in the bush
outside my home have grown accustomed
to my morning prayers for you. I walk onto
the deck and speak from my heart. Their
fluttering stops. Calm and still, like winter
berries in the bare branches, they listen to
my words. In the orange and rose sunrise
of a new day, my hope for love is also theirs.

* * * * *

January 5

Dearest Love, Tonight the winter sky burns
with mountain stars. Brighter than them all,
your candle blazes in my home, warms my
heart and lights my soul. My love for you is
a flame that flares beyond our mortal lives,
aglow with memories, ablaze in the moment,
flickering beyond what we shall ever know.
If I briefly light your path or warm your journey
with forever-love, I am glad. I love you. -- Tom.

* * * * *

January 12

My fingers are a flock of wild birds,
feather-tips brushing your skin, a
touch like none you have ever felt.

My words are whispers of moonlight,
sheer and raw, sweetly romantic, a
voice like none you have ever heard.

My love is a song of endless verses,
a sunrise kiss, a sunset touch, a light
breeze refreshing your spirit, a lullaby
calming your heart, caressing your sleep.

* * * * *

January 13

This night is muted and full of moonlight.
I see you in your healing chair, watching
for Mister Fox or your Jackrabbit pal, the
nuzzle of moonlight composing your soul,
love rising to the surface of your skin, to
the edge of your liquid eyes and beyond.
Later, I see you snug in my arms, your eyes
radiant, your skin flushed with longing.
Delicate moonlight snuggles our love into
silence ... a tranquil touch without words.
In moonlight, I love you more than poetry.

* * * * *

January 31

On a dark night
we light the oil lamp
and make our own dawn.

The flame flickers, circles our eyes.
We whisper words, tell stories.
Shadows step back to make room.

Somewhere mid-sharing
the sun rises inside a word.
The depths are no longer dark.

A door opens. We look in.
Light floods the next room.
We walk inside together.

* * * * *

February 14

On this day made for love, for us in love,
no sunset ends our day, no clock ticks
past our midnight, no new day dawns
without my hand upon your heart, and
love-words flowing full of our wet kisses.

* * * * *

March 8

Early morning. The storm has climbed the Cascades
and left the high desert valley arched with blue sky
and milk-white clouds. When I see blue sky next to
white I think of the clear-white around your eyes on
days when they are almost blue, when you hear water
sounds, the blue-green river below Boundary Springs,
the wild white foaming of the river in Rogue River Gorge.
When rarely your eyes are more blue than green, I see
you on the rim of Crater Lake, the blue lake below,
you in my arms, your mouth upon mine, a kiss as new
as the morning after a storm, as clear as your eyes,
as deep as the memory of mountain stars the night before.

* * * * *

March 8

Each day I live the words of my love poems
though for days and days after your return
I have been scared to share as though I am
living in the worn-out cliche of needing you
more when you are away from my life than
when you are within grasp. I suspect you
have felt this, too. But no more! I reach out
and I grab! I grab you, your love, your heart,
your passion, your spirit, your soul, stories
of your family and friends, of work and dreams.
I am intent on not letting go. As an artist, I wish
to avoid cliches. As your lover, I wish to create
the story of my love for you, share it with words,
and live it in each moment we spend together.

Though I grasp and hold your heart and soul, I
take nothing from you. You are your own woman,
beautiful, wonderful, wise, desirable, my lovely love.
My grasp of what is dear to you does not smother
or overwhelm you. You feel nothing more than a
warm wind through the branches of our love.

The grabbing is metaphor. The reality is more
delicate ... a gentle word, a tender touch that
leaves us tingling. For years I acted the loud
wildness in me to perfection. But for years I
have also heard the faint voice of someone softer
whispering to be let out and shared with you.
You have heard echoes of this part of me
from time to time, but it has not been enough
for me, nor for you, if I hear what our hearts
say to each other. Primal and gentle are in me.
These two together are what I offer us as I learn
the wisdom of when to invite each voice to speak.

But before I got sidetracked with hearing voices,
we were just starting to feel a tingling.... When I
see your green eyes turn blue-green with passion,
gleaming with desire, I know every pore of our love
has opened. Our sharing is deep, primal, complete,
and after, our souls stay connected, intimate, quiet.
We speak softly, whispering love words to each other.
Outside, a soothing breeze blows through the trees.

Each day I live each wild and quiet word of my poems.
I listen and hear them all. Day by day, inside our love,
I learn the wisdoms of how to share my words with you.

* * * * *

March 14

After the long night of a snowy winter
a warm breeze shakes the yellow daffodils
into a dance, teasing my slumbering heart
into a wild-eyed, wide-awake tizzy.

I am drawn to dance this new dance with you.

Barefoot in the dew, we whirl like the wind.
From within us, we wake up wonder and hope.
Our dancesteps drum the rhythms of the soil,
together, through a rousing season of mornings.

* * * * *

March 23

I close my eyes and see you in the bubble bath,
your eyes dreamy with a relaxed desire, liquid
in candlelight and moonlight. Our legs touch.
Skin brushing skin is a love-tingle intensified,
invisible under the warm-water foam of bubbles,
a taction of imagination that draws us close
in the mellow light, into the warmth of sharing.

* * * * *

May 24

Yes, my love, I think of you often....

In the early morning, emerging from my dreams, when the stars still twinkle and the slender moon has long been over the ridge, I think of you and imagine you beside me, waking in my arms. We greet the new morning together with a kiss, first an effortless touch of our lips, and then deep and wet and loving kisses that wake us fully. Light finger-touches grow hungry with eagerness and passion. Our lovemaking explodes with inner love-light as the rising sun sends us into a beautiful day of shimmering springtime colors.

I think of you through the days we are apart, sending you little love prayers of well-wishing and strength to help you through the challenges of your work. I imagine you in those moments when everything goes right, joy is present in your heart and someone's life is richer because you made a gesture that made a difference, a gesture others might have thought was unimportant. You knew it might not work but you tried it anyway, and it was a magic touch.

I think of you as I picture us sauntering through the landscape of a story. Sometimes these thoughts are memories, sometimes wishful dreams of treks to come. In these moments, our hearts are rich with the spiritual connection to sacred places and open to deeper ties to each other. We feel the touch of creation in a caress on the banks of the Klamath River.

As evening settles onto the ridge and into my heart, I think of you. We share the sunset and take the colors with us to bed. Evening lovemaking has a different tone than morning. My mind, anticipating all that is possible in the dreams awaiting us, opens my heart to depths of fantasies and passion that find their wakeful times only at night. Sometimes those moments are sweet and gentle, at other times I want to open my naughty being and find a way to inspire you to do the same ... to play, to love, to dive into the depths where we can float in our most hidden stories. Some evenings I find myself on the edge ready to make that leap. Then I'm drawn back to a safer place by the fear of what you might think of me if you knew my thoughts. In my heart I know it would be all right, and perhaps what you desire as well and so I gingerly step back toward the edge, if only a little. As trust and love and friendship between us deepens, the edge becomes more friendly, and the urge to visit that fantasy place with you grows stronger and feels safer. Bit by bit, I share more completely the stories you have heard little snatches of during those nighttime moments when the world of fantasy touches what is real. My heart opens, and I feel ready to walk with you into your fantasy-stories as well.

In sleep, you often visit me in dreams. Sometimes we are ourselves, sometimes characters made from rearranging parts of us to reflect what's been tugging at our hearts during our waking hours. Certain dreams bring a deep, calm sleep. I feel you beside me also sleeping, dreaming, desiring. My fingers lightly brush across your breasts as they find their way to your heart, anticipating what we will share in those gentle starlit moments before another sunrise.