Like a chime of waking, marks the time I think of you
And though our worlds behold a distance
First an hour, then by two
To me, it never makes a difference
Whether skies are gray, or white, or match your eyes of blue
Or if the moment comes and goes in but an instant

To the chime of each arrival, eyes would rush to meet
Your words, regardless of the hour,
Whether it’s goodbye or greet
My words a vine, and you the bower
Coursing as if fingers on your spine beneath a sheet
As a bouquet of poems offered as a flower

With the chime of evening, when our moons are yet the same
Between the moments of departure
Where new messages remain
As if a kiss, or fragile art, your
Image lingers softly like a dream I can’t explain
For I an arrow, and, my dear, you are an archer

Like the chime of morning, are your lips upon my own
As if a breath of resurrection
Or the feeling like I’m home
Beholden to your fair complexion
In this crowded world where, evermore, you stand alone
My heart a clock that chimes for you with such affection



We’ve gone as far as we can go
We’ve earned ourselves some lovely scars
And thus, did we, our ugly sides
So tragically decide to show

The “me” and “you” we cut from “ours”
Subtracting words we’d once confide
From what was once our chosen song
And killed the notes but left the bars

We dared as much as we defied
And carried much and tarried long
With singing hearts and wild souls
When compasses refused to guide

The “we” from “they” who, ever strong,
Were never half what we were whole
When deaf, were we, to “what is right”
For how could love be true and wrong?