(Poem by Wendy Howe )

For so long before I said, "I loved you",
my body stood mute, a slant
of moonlight cooling the garden gate
that closed off the sea.

I tasted brine, felt the dock lamps
uttering heat; and I yearned
to become the fire's pulse throbbing
along the shoreline. You were there
waiting for the winds to breathe warmer,
the waters to ripple a woman's stillness.
But I stood back keeping my composure.
You never knew then
how I wanted to lay my shadow
on that wrist of sand
and have you trace its length
with fingertips born out of stars
wished upon and granted fulfillment.

You never knew then
a slant of moonlight was splintered bone
broken-off from loneliness
as dense or deeper than your own.
You never knew until now
When my lungs have opened
like a psalm book and words
have been heard, sung and carried
into you r veins, the etched markings
on a shell, sea glass and all things
that shimmer beyond the moment's sunburst.
Our feelings outlast the day
and stretch into light years
only God can count and press
between his merciful palms.

© 2011, Wendy Howe. E-mail.
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