I was busy
.......................for Sarge

The whole of my life, till late --

slow learning, careful, each twig and stone

inspected, catalogued, archived. . . .

Successful, I think and thought, at seeking

out the crannies of the soul. Spirit had not

escaped my notice. And yet. . . .

The men I married, bean counters, focussed on

what could be touched, pictured, named, banked. Soul

soared, of necessity, alone. And for that I cannot blame them

The grande loves of my life given over, the poet to drink and

the actor, to death. My route delayed, I came late to silence

Late to the quiet mind. And then, out of that silence, a peace

so deep, there is no fathoming of it. So green and growing,

no counting of the beanstock of it, searching its tendrils out to the

edge of all that is known and unknown. No cataloguing of the why of it

I know only, with deepest gratitude, your shoulder in the night

to fall asleep against is a kind of a joy and a peace I've never known,

a sweet satisfaction and pleasure I have in no way earned

Simple symbol of the gift of yourself. Given wholly and compleatly

Received thankfully and without question. And given back entirely
I hope. And promise.

jjl

8 July 2008