A lover said he wanted a poem for his birthday.  This being my first piece of work posted here, feedback is especially appreciated.



The quiet hours, in between the tides -

- the crest atop the rush and fall of things.

In a sense, in a sin, is where we find

our absolution: 

               a broken place

that clings to our feet, where they

intersect the earth and heaven.



Down broad and winding paths

a squirrel found us in the park.

Solemn paws together in a prayer;

he knew then of our need.

In the jagged beloving shadow

of leaves softly torn apart

and touching at the tips, the limbs,

I take your hands.  You give me love.

Forever and again,

the light crumbles, lost around us,

and we persist.



You and I,

We will always know our dimensions:

As long as your lips endure on mine.

As wide as your arms in the dark.

We meet and lay our tears on tears,

our touch on touch,

re-making our world infinite --

In between the tides.  The quiet ours.