Of nature and love.
Far from the fractious edges of the city,
home in this seaside Shangri-la that knows
neither beginning nor end and flows
in a seeming endlessness beyond dreams,
you walk with me, my love, arm in arm to
become one where water joins hands with pebble
and sand. For now, it is our shelter, an encompassing
splendor sufficient for us, a deepness like eternity.
Surrounded above and below by nature’s prolific
yield of majestic hues and sashaying tones
provided as caressing breezes or assuring ocean
surf, we stand together, even closer now, as
warm sunlight parades proud as tall sails,
and I gently caress your cheek, obedient to
the insistence of an ancient calling.
I look into your eyes, and I fall into your ocean:
a symphony begins, violins, oboes, French horns,
the unification of melodious note offered among surf
and sand and sun, the cellos, cymbals, the harp--a score
transcending the fragile soundlessness of what was.
Yet now, as if the universe is ours and ours alone,
we abide significantly in a labyrinth of tides vivid
to all senses. It is for us, as we stand barefoot,
in the sand, in this surround of musical embrace, thankful
for the magnificence that nature and love so readily provides.