When two things
Are attracted to
Each other but
Simply can’t cross
A certain longing
Grows pulling them
Closer yet apart
It’s called bliss
A place where
Beauty compassion trust
Blooms a place
No one else
Can see but
Then off each
Goes being themselves
Yet together they
Will always be
Low morning sun
Blanches the lilacs
White like sweet
Little lavender jujubes
Shadows beneath the
Suns reach glisten
In morning dew
Like wet ink
Ivory sunslit slivers
Dance like ghosts
Long and sinewy
They grow shrink
As Saul rises
The last of
Last nights rain
Drips from gutters
Like tea from
Hot wet spoons
As yawning birds
Call each other
This my love
Is morning here
Do I keep
All these photographs
Watching them age
As surely as
You will do
Or discard them
Without a trace
Haunting me instead
In memoried dreams
Do I touch
Your papered face
Retracing where once
My fingers danced
Peering into eyes
That once I
Watched fall asleep
Do I remember
Your giggling laughter
Like far off
Melodies being played
Or let you
Go like fall
Into the winter
Isn’t the purpose
Of keeping things
To use them
Then why should
I keep you
Around it’s simple
Just because I
Lost you doesn’t
Mean that I
Will lose you
Spoke to God
Again He offered
Three simple words
Let him go
But I replied
Won’t I ache
Replying He said
Do you really
Think that love
Is simply happiness
For if you
Do my son
Next you shall
Learn what love
Really truly is
The hardest part
Of camping isn’t
Pitching the tent
It’s taking it
Down for with
It goes joyful
Wilderness and starry
Skies and back
You go living
In little boxes
There is something
To be said
For freedom clear
Of constraints and
Limits I shall
Remember our moonlit
Nights the fire
All our dreams
As we return
To our tidy
Simple little lives
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 