Because that is love,
when my beaten, wrinkled skin is still caressed by you,
and your gray smoky hair is my loving obsession.
When we are lovers, may we dance under the full harvest moon,
and pick pumpkins
at old Wellwood Orchards.
Growing Beautifully Old
More by Isi Gibson
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M
The paragraphs you send me are long,
certain,
and completely free;
they take flight around my mind like gentle songbirds,
-
Eternal Serenity - Sijo Poetry
Clouds fixed in settled explosions of amber and saffron
Clement winds tossing seaweed on the toasted flaxen sand
-
Those Days
I remember only its ghostly aftermath;
my parents' divorce.
My dad was cast without anything,
we lived in a rented renovated barn.
Comments
The kind of love we're all desperately seeking, sometimes our entire lives---! I appreciate the metaphor here of time finally ripening as if it is harvest season: the golden years have arrived for this pair, years of joy to savor together. It's very touching.
Thank you!
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