While you slept

a voice more lightning than gentle wind

I lay here in the Manor swing,
with room for but one when I recline –
but when I sit straight and tall,
there is room for you
to nuzzle close
if you wish.

Forth and back in measured pace,
the shoulder-leaning space is claimed
by caressing mem’ries of pause,
close flickering breath
of ever love
now reclaimed.

I do not swing for gentle peace,
but to listen to the fervent call
of the awesome voice of now,
flash of shadow bright
heard by my soul
and being.

In the broad sweep of human strife,
with turbulent clouds of angry fear –
crash lightning cries of lonely,
hands reaching through tears
sweated by running
away from self
and friendship.

I am pulled up and off once more,
lamp in hand and ready whistled song,
to reach within the torrent
to those open hands
and silent hearts
of yearning.

forth and back,
criss-cross shadows –
listening to the silver thread …