Words have served their purpose.
Now it’s time for brandied
moonlight in plum petals,
birds fermenting in vaults of holly,
burgundy midnight, the darker
stronger stuff of vintage silence.
It's wandering time, walk softly
in cedar amazement.
Savor the duration of a raindrop,the ever-expanding momentof a tongue-crushed huckleberry.
Lost all night in green inebriation,listen as the planets sigh in pine branches.
Taste their distillate sparkle
in your heart's hollow.
Feel the Eros of transparency.
Learn the art of not revealingwhat you yearn to sharewith every thirsty stranger.Then your luster will be like the moonpulling on gardens from within.
Love is a secret, the Beloved is a secret,you must be a secret too,a hidden flowering that othersonly scent in the darkness we all share.
Let each breath be an excess,a sin of yearning for the blush concealedin the modesty of blackness.
Come back tipsy, lover... do no speak
of what or whom you have known.