Secret Love Letters
1.
To you, what can I
say
that hasn't already
been said?
All possible
declarations have been made —
though sweet in the
repetition.
This is the craziest
love
or the sanest.
If there was lust, it
would be
the ultimate in
star-crossed.
Luckily for us,
we're otherwise
inclined.
And so we love
deliciously
mind to mind.
And yes, we love with
passion –
of the soul, not the
flesh.
Almost flirtatious,
nearly romantic,
silly with happiness.
Only this you have
not yet remarked:
you are the one
calling the tune.
And me? Darling, I'm
dancing!
2.
We've never met in
person,
likely never shall,
and yet we touch.
I know you in your
images.
I wonder if you know
how much they could
only be yours.
You have a particular
way
of combining colours,
a fondness
for certain patterns
and forms….
I know you in your
words,
and know your
countryside
and your own garden.
Like me, you dwell
in a place of rivers
and leaves.
You show me its
detail, its shape.
Your paintings evoke
a child
falling in love with
the earth,
which opens to her
delight.
And your poems tell
it all —
including the mother,
the lover,
the she who's both
tender and wise.
I enter your page on
bare feet.
We walk your
landscape together,
hug each other and
smile.
3.
You're growing up so
fast,
my Child of Light —
whom I never address
that way,
even inside our
circle.
I may have mentioned
my thought
that the Universe
gave us each other
for its own
inscrutable reasons.
If I did, you may
have heard.
We talk about
computers,
music, photography,
clothes and food,
what sort of work you
fancy
and which boys.
I watch who stalks
your profile.
'Get your sleazy paws
off,'
I snarl through
cyberspace
silently, raising
protection.
With home, too, a
place of danger
from which you can't
yet escape,
you have learnt to be
subtle and strong.
It is enough for the
moment.
Later, Child of
Light,
I will tell you the
mysteries
of an ancient
star-born race
and a task to fulfil.
4.
Then, I didn't know
you called yourself
Moon Goddess.
Round as the moon,
you strode on stage;
your voice 'as big as
Texas'
hit the furthest wall
of the long,
corridor-style café.
Yelling defiance
or husky with grief,
your words pulled no
punches.
I fell in love
instantly.
On the footpath after
the workshop,
where you'd settled
for a fag
with a bunch of your
mates
(I guess you'd say
buddies?)
you looked up and
excused yourself
from labouring to
your feet for a hug.
'I'm a big girl,' you
said, shrugging.
I bent right down and
hugged you anyway.
Later I saw that we
must have dislodged
one of my blood-red
earrings
onto that dark
pavement.
You refused a party
invitation
and made yourself
late for work
to come to the
reading
on my last night in
town.
It was quiet with a
hint of rain,
the balmy Austin
spring
beginning to fray at
the edges.
I gave you my book.
Your face lit.
When we kissed
goodbye, your cheek
was the softest flesh
ever felt.
This was a year ago,
when you were still 22.
5.
You are the one
who broke my heart,
departing suddenly
without a word
after we'd got so
close.
I can still see your
face,
its grave beauty
deceptively serene.
Your loving words
were like
the touch of a gentle
hand.
It wasn't just me.
We were all
astounded,
the circle of friends
who loved
your kind heart, and
the wisdom
hard won, softly
shared.
I rejoiced to find a
sister
with a firm Christian
faith
albeit I am a witch.
How deep
we went for common
ground,
trusting in Love,
Peace and Truth.
Abruptly you were
gone.
I know you knew
how much it would hurt.
When another friend
went missing,
you were my
comforter.
We made enquiries.
You were not ill,
nothing was wrong.
You simply chose to
withdraw,
the messenger said.
You might even come
back….
Just as well we
didn't hold
our collective
breath!
The trouble is,
I loved you.
