You laughed as I drank water

From a glass made for wine,

“Did I always?…”

Your interjectives tap

Thoughts and dreams

Bottled up, waters dammed,

Your presence, this first encounter,

A morning reverie,

The gavels call to return

To the patient pause on distant hills,

Where the pleides were pondered to the north,

And frozen rivers, captured in mid-course,

Mid-fall,

Creak and groan in the silent night,

Marveled by none

But the soul of the earth.

There pacts were made

To truth, light, and love,

Simplicity and the pure.

But as ancient walls (where travelers leaned

In shadows of trees whose names

We can no longer say)

Are surely covered by fine lines

Of sediment and soot,

So these pacts weather and blur,

Vague outlines,

Faint hummocks in barren fields,

Stumbled over,

And, as now, recalled…

…Yes,

Truth, light, and love,

Simplicity and the pure.

I see them now,

This line here is truth,

This other light,

See how they meet here with love.

And here, simplicity,

And there, the pure,

Traced, a finger on a map,

Unearthed, once again,

As my faith and hope,

Stirred, affirmed.

Recall a story

Where water was turned to wine.