of saturdays
to notice –
the way I feel for you
has never changed
the angle of the sun
where flowers gather fragrance
near the dusted road –
where wings have spread
a canopy divine

a swarm of song
each thought becomes
a parting just as dear –
returning
nimble briars unto spring
berries crushed beneath us –
a favored lullaby
is whispered without word
above the pines

answers
I’ve been weaving back
into the first I knew
moments casting shadows on the night
seeking recognition
of pages yet unturned –
an ancient quest
with nothing left
to rhyme

last I dreamed
for more than this –
some absolute of life
where golden sat
the moon
beside the barn
seasons went unnoticed –
one and still you are
a welcome home
remembered –
every time

. . .