I love the grass
that wills to live
his bare neighbors
watch
him close
as he battles, battered
by the wind,
the sand,
the forces t hat march
there.
I love the ocean
that moves to win
the sky�s hand,
the rain
that joins them
the birds that send
their loving messages,
tickling their ears,
and the flower
That expresses
them all
I love them
For they are
beautiful
I love them and
Unknowingly,
They love me-
For in them, I affirm
That I am
Not as beautiful
as they are
But as alive�
If all tonights were promises
of a daybreak in a few hours,
I would dance to the tick of clocks
and stride with seconds
for daybreak is a moment, a movement�s
coming to an end.
Yes, the music will stop, the dancing
will be put to a halt but silence
will not be a prison- but a jailbreak
from the bottom of these�dungeons of your absence.
If all these were just a mellowing caused by rain,
a dream bound within the limits of a dream
with an end for its fate as if nothing but what lies
beyond it, remember the promise.
The promise of every night to bear
the child of tomorrow- that in the death of eve,
a new tide is born to rise from the foam�
to divide worlds of water and earth
between faith and reason;
that while the reasonable man stops
at the gates of sleep to wake, the man of faith
pushes open the gates of the real
for sleep�s water to sink; so the reasonable man
will not dance to the tick of clocks�
because to him tonight is just a river
of passing water� while I
dance, bathe in the promise of water�s fluidity,
that water has no end� it flows through dimensions�