I’ve spent my days trying to get closer to you,
my love. Frustrations of separation
pulse in me. The spark behind the life-force
remains unknowable. Like the morning glories
thick with splendor late in the season,
I only touch and gaze upon the skin of beauty.
Their life-blood courses
from underground, chemical origin
up through lattice work to bloom into unfolding
creation. Toward the light.
To travel my own roots—
the spectrum of aura, light branching
somewhere out in there, all that is, maybe
a place or an experience, a seed of soul—
to feel a connection to you past the sheen
of presence, close hum of the secret furnace.
These days pass with more white than red in my beard.
I have gotten no closer. You go on, as will I, until
outside time, beyond surface we synthesize, glow.