Afar

.

.

I speak to you by candlelight
with quill and well of ink,
I slowly dip its feathered point,
finding the images I seek.

A fire crackles slowly
from a stone and earthen hearth,
while a cherry-inlaid letterbox
holds my tools for simple thought.

Parchment, stiff and yellowed,
is unrolled, I weigh it down,
across a wooden writing desk,
with a creek stone that I found.

Words can sound so painful
where pen and parchment meet,
resonating through the night
until my work’s complete.

Then folding, ever gently,
after taking time to dry,
I close with wax and seal,
to discourage prying eyes.

I send to you by horseback,
a month or two removed,
You’ll break the seal to read within,
my pledge of love to you.

Words won’t lose their meaning
whether written from afar,
for the parchment’s just a vessel,
the ink comes from the heart.
                                          

April 5, 2005

Dear Love,

I was so scared the other day. It seemed my world was going to end and the only thing I could think of was not spending the last moments I had with you.

I hate being apart. Whether a minute, an hour, a day, or a month. The amount of time does not make it any less bearable. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder; it makes mine cry rivers of tears.
I miss the vanilla smell that followed you from room to room. It may sound funny but I ran in the Baker’s yesterday and asked him if you’d been around. He looked as though I’d lost my mind. Maybe I have, but I had to smile when I walked by the cookie tray and saw it empty. I just took one last inhale, seeing not even a crumb left to satisfy any lingering hunger.

Maybe it’s just the feelings that the night brings, but I find myself staring at the headlights on the freeway. They bring tears of a hundred sunshines as I remember the miles separating us. It’s like looking across the river knowing all I have to do is reach the far bank to feel your arms once more. Just a short swim and I can feel your breath on my neck, your soft whispers in my ear. The river running such a torrent, making crossing impossible, and the rains never cease to end.

Tell me one more time why we stand apart. Even though my head wants to understand, my heart drowns in the confusion of deep sadness. It’s just temporary, you say, just until we’re sure. Until then, this is the best thing. After all, you have to finish school, and me, I have this damn job.

By the way, I received your letter the other day. It reminded me of the Baker’s. Thanks for the crumbs.
You sure know what it takes to sustain me. Until next time, let my words linger like scented candles and let my flame light your way.

Love, …..

Afar

I speak to you by candlelight
with quill and well of ink,
I slowly dip its feathered point,
finding the images I seek.

A fire crackles slowly
from a stone and earthen hearth,
while a cherry-inlaid letterbox
holds my tools for simple thought.

Parchment, stiff and yellowed,
is unrolled, I weigh it down,
across a wooden writing desk,
with a creek stone that I found.

Words can sound so painful
where pen and parchment meet,
resonating through the night
until my work’s complete.

Then folding, ever gently,
after taking time to dry,
I close with wax and seal,
to discourage prying eyes.

I send to you by horseback,
a month or two removed,
You’ll break the seal to read within,
my pledge of love to you.

Words won’t lose their meaning
whether written from afar,
for the parchment’s just a vessel,
the ink comes from the heart.