A Place for Conversation

 I'd like to sit in a quiet place with you,

a grassy hollow on the downslope of a hill,

our feet feeling the springing of heather;

or by a gate, backs pressed against the bars,

a sweet horse nuzzling our heads,

perhaps a woodland full of sharp green scents,

running acorns through our hands,

a seashore, where we'd lean against the rocks

heavy with time, full of their ancient history.

I think we'd speak of art, religion, poetry,

philosophy and science and arcane matters,

of the sun and stars and moons, the universe,

of mysteries unsolved or still unknown.

A long purple shadow might fall across the hill,

the horse, tiring, wander away to graze.

A serrated gleam, eye hitting, through the trees,

the tide, rising, surging soft along the shore.

Then, perhaps, you'd gently take my hand,

and we would speak of love.


Untitled Document
end Welcome Poems Publications Events Contact end