This is for someone very special to me. Should she, or anyone, recognize who inspired the poem in me, please remember that this is poetry, with licence to write a feeling which arose at a moment in time, from my need, not hers. She does not need to connect here. If the poem does connect, then we will have another different poem to share. [I am working on that one right now]
I find it hard to love
my swallow bird.
She sweeps by
on winds I have not heard.
She dips to music
drumming from some silent beat
dictated from her own heart zone.
Like all the tea from all the leaf in china
Like all the quartz glister from every grain of sand
My soul tumbles into fractions
Fractals fold, enfold in twist and turn
I find I cannot want to take her hand.
I hate my fractious hating thoughts
I hate the bones and joints which ache
I hate the threatening tears that fall in anger.
Frustration carves a worn and weathered face.
Voice silenced. Listen. Love the hate, its me.
Just start afresh. Drop the need to love and care.
Hate is real and passions need to leave their mark
Like footprints in the sand.
The wind will blow soft sand one day
My sad and lonely swallow comes in on the wind.
I will not love the broken wing
But I will hold her hand.
April 2012 at Block Island.
Swallow picture from Richard Lettinger thanks.