alongside gestures of despair,
may communicate thought
bettter. or worse?
so lets be singular
enjoy our own space,
and be friends, forever.
she says that you
cannot see some people’s souls,
perhaps we need to look harder.
there is a lot going on.
i searched for the ravages of time,
it seems a phrase i have not used recently.
it seems i ought to keep quiet,
and get on with it any way.
there are enough disturbances in the world,
storm predicted, wind swept, the visitors came,
some to sail boats, while others to
pass the time of day, pleasantly.
we shall shelter from the rain
so if the seat is not level,
if the leaves grow,
we can hide.
quiet. see the paths wind,
the grass grow.
talk about everything.
slight mist, the window this
morning shows a softer
green. since the rain.
the oak has started, new
flowers come through the grass.
while feeding birds, we watch the
gradually all things
knows the wind will change,
the birds will fly.
while i know nothing.
she read the leading
reactions, speak louder.
so when there are none
look for a meandering way.
the lane is long,
now there is no escaping,
only one way to the end.
a little conversation
never goes amiss.
there are times
one gets bruised.
the play never ends.
it is a gift, the friend ship, the kiss
on each cheek with out avoidance.
it may seem continental, yet we are
dolgellau. it is a meeting place, yes,
near the church. there are similarities,
yet this is not a metaphor.
we met at ten, talked of family,
one hour led to two, and overstepped
the parking time.
later in the garden, i thought of you.
i cut the paths and thought of you too.
it is a gift.
becomes larger as time moves on.
it started early, with greek poetry,
the radio, which played all day.
he says i like a challenge, and
can certainly rise to the occasion.
cutting in proves concentration, happily
painting everything white.
geese flew over, ann messaged to
say her swallows returned.
the day moved slowly, and i find
the memories are not as you may think.
i have new ones.