Our bodies joined with the sky and sun,
Below the soft cream clouds, we walked;
Under the fat circling gulls we talked
Of beauty and love and life in between;

There were silver jingles in her voice,
Shimmers of quartz in her blazing eyes--
Caught in that small whirlpool of time
I was more sure, than I dared ever be;

The breeze tickled our arms and thighs;
The splashes of red, the pools of green,
Everything like in a painting of Monet--
Tomorrow, it seemed, was forever today.

Again and again
i find myself
seduced by
the unctuous moment,
trapped
in a puddle
of vain considerations,
sour words
and petty debates,
a puny whirlpool
of self-devouring guilt
and fear-ridden mistakes--
and need
to remind myself
of the bees on the thistle,
the moon
larger than myself,
our spiraling Milky Way
so richly
swollen with stars;
yes,
i need to remember
the faint flickerings
of galactic worlds
scattered across vast black fields of time and space,
far beyond
my self-importance,
far beyond
my manufactured nightmares,
far beyond
the muddy footprint of my shoes.