Your Love For Me
If you the hills chant and me in them run
to find naught but tree and shadow
conspiring, and an owl hooting ridicule,
What will touch my face, then?
If the moon alone lightens my retraced
sorrowing footsteps, and leaves waft
clues my beaten mind cannot discern,
What will whisper then, in my ear?
When I emerge to remember the old fears
that sent me stumbling into the darksnapping twigs and biting wind,
What will give me hope, in that moment?
What will tell me that everything
and the breeze was you, knowing sooner
to make your own way from the far side
that you might gain the clearing as I went in?
What will tell me this as I twist now,
bending to pick the burrs from myself?
What will cause me to come into the open
where you and your smile
are brighter than the moon ever was?
© Ciprianowords Inc. 2008
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