I find

I'm actually too shy to send this poem to the lady who inspired it, so I'll just post it here and if she happens upon it, maybe she'll realize it is for her. If not, such is life.

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maybe I will see you sometime
when the skies are bright enough to resolve
the colour of your hair, inviting touch and much,
much more into this sore heart, ancient it seems
at times and then you step into my dreams
and make a mess of my resolution. the evolution
of man to stone is thrown out and I find
I find
an oddly familiar heat within me, when it should not be,
for it died a season or ten ago, a slow death,
fried in the workaday electricity of grounded thoughts.
but you intrigue me in ways I didn't realize
I could still wonder on when I see the image of you,
a smile against blue skies where lies
are sooner or later overturned and burned fingers
heal to conceal all but the memory of pain.
you wake me from the fading light and I find
I find
that the night is not a time for shadows
but the touch of you. a consummation to be wished
like I wish for air and the sun to rise in the morning,
warning me that there are still days ahead
when what I have bled with be remembered to me.
for such is the legacy of the brave.
you make me willing to face the memories
and make new ones, true ones, a few ones
that we really can't explain, you had to be there
but if you were we wouldn't have been doing that
the way were doing that. when I think of you I find
I find
I want to see just how good all my other senses
can feel when my defenses are down and it isn't
a game or the same old patterns of habituated kisses
when cupid misses and hits other organs besides the heart.
I would lose myself within you to have found
have found
the truth about the religion of love and lovers.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.