A Place To Begin

Like oceans, maybe, the somnambulent
sea ebbing at night into the long darkness,
cold, but with somewhere soon to get to.
Or like the indefatigable colours
of flowers that surround in summer,
the season of appraisal, rich in sunlight.
Or maybe still like something else.

There is a place to begin such things, a moment
that sets off magics no matter where
they fall, as fall they must on someone new,
someone who would wear them with a high regard,
someone, like us, knowing the offer of pleasure.
The lights of our eyes lessen the years to seconds:
we have become glad of one another,

watching not for indiscretion, but for
recognition of what has happened.
And what has happened has happened well,
fetching smiles that make a gladness holy
without the need of prayer or meditation.
There is a place to begin, I know, but I have
forgotten now where that might be,

the sound of laughter in your name
that polishes light wherever it is said.
And unlike seas and the comeliness of flowers
we have things of certainty to say, moods
that capture heavens and moonbeams,
brightening the evening that holds our smiles
that fall, now, easy as the gods who bow to us

in welcoming, like a new life found
in the morning's pride.

John Cornwall

If you've any comments on his poems, John Cornwall will be glad to hear from you.


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