Poetry Poem

 

Slowly, cautiously

like a wild animal

curious yet afraid

instinct of the heart

against instinct of the hunter

the spirit of poetry stalks the edge

of my campfire’s circle of light.

 

I see you there, prowling,

restless,

while I stare blankly

into the fire

pretending not to notice.

I can see only how you move

silent, liquid

in the corners of my eyes.

 

Excitement, suspense.

I know you

and yet I know you not,

know who you have been,

know nothing of who you have become,

know that if I look at you too soon

you will disappear.

 

You must come

to me.

I can only allow, invite,

create the stillness,

the emptiness.

My skin is electric

with your approach.

It pleases me to have you

even this close,

sniffing the border

between light and mystery.

 

Now you move directly in front of me

keeping to the shadows

but now face to face

so we can look into each other’s eyes,

grow accustomed to being together

yet again.

 

It’s been a long time, you say silently,

eyes unmoving as I nod.

I have forgotten how coy you are,

how your theatre trembles my skin,

whines my blood,

stretches my every sense

until I can feel

the color of your silence,

the texture of your night.

 

After a time

I can trace the shape of your shadow,

the contours of your gathered void,

and I know that you, too, are pleased

to be together again.

Did you think I had forgotten you?

Did I think you would never return?

 

Invitation grows in your eyes,

steady as stars,

calling me to join you

in the blackness,

leave light behind

until morning.

 

I hesitate,

awkward, embarrassed.

It’s my turn to be coy.

We both smile, and I remember

most gratefully

the depth of your patience.

 

I stand, gather around me

all the gentleness of the moment,

check your eyes one more time,

then slip beyond the edge of knowledge

into the soft folds

of your welcome.