Monday, February 21, 2011


A drop of an essential oil descends within you when you, in our first exchange, open. For an instant - rich, honey-tinted - this amber congeals from between the words we share, bearing a sweet nose of our thoughts' wine . . .

You tell me that when you yield to it, this honey-drop of mind and perception sinks way in, that though you are made of water, this penetrating liquid is heavier. Then, with a glance at a time piece, you close again, depart, and the distance of circumstance separates us.

Today, you speak of the water again - quietness of a pool, sweetness and darkness both infused into your bones, flowing in your blue veins - advancing beneath your pale skin.

I observe you place your left hand in your right. You close your eyes. We sit and share a liquid moment- ebbing and rising with the wordless tug of implications.

These exchanges point to what more is possible and how we limit what we imagine.

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