In summer when the breeze is easy we
who live where light lines shadow’s curving blade
do wander wide; our talk and song bounce free
and merry through the river-splashing glade.

In winter when the cold winds blow against
our faces shorn of memory, we set
our careful eyes upon the hidden sense
that shines and whistles with all we’ve ever met.

In fall we light the candles long and wise
In spring we snuff them out to let the sun
be all. These roles we living realize
are mists and fade into the dark when a day is done.

Can we all creatures ever born and ever dead
admit we love each other and are forever wed?
And in this wedding perish like sparks within the fire
that burns beyond all hope and fear, all madness and desire?

I love you my darling one.
I’ll marry you and then
not ever harm this gentle fun
not once, no never once again.

Authors: The Usual Suspects
Editors: It must be Bartleby Willard & Amble Whistletown, if they get around to it.
Copyright: Andy Watson, such as I remember him before he forgot himself and us and the long grass meadows where grasshopper thwacked in artless, unstirred flights; where bees hummed and bent wild flowers to their eager, almost-mindless wills; where ants beetles rolypolies and other silent travelers found the dirt hidden between the sharp strong stalks; where butterflies skimmed and birds chattered sang danced and wondered.