It's not in your river of
stars upon my
lips at dawn,
or how I watch the blue
always changing in
your eyes
and wonder how those
ghosts of spring
can float so freely
in their cage
just beyond my reach.


It's not in your skin
when it shatters me
and recreates me
from fire and
discovers the secret
joy I keep for you
as I freely
trade my breath
for yours.


It's not in the places
we found sacred:
the oceans that loved
us with each blast
of crystal,
the forests that
blessed us like priests,
or even the moon
when she dropped her
steaming robe on some
green-scented nights.


It's in a trembling flame,
sapphire veil,
a breath I rode from
a star the day cannot
pound into dust,
a soul that found its
way from rock to light:

It's in the
center of myself  
that I have found you.  


by Patricia Joan Jones

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem received the Gala's Touch Award at Galadrial's Respite and was chosen Poem of the Week at The Golden Quill poetry forum.  

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saiom's picture

you are a master

and one needs to meditate
for a long time on your poems
to unfurl their many trails