this morning in a fit of white, your snowflake halo
tinged pink by rising sun, miracle between banks
slate clouds pregnant with white Christmas and sleigh bells
suggested in the silence of falling flakes . . . somehow
over green hills rich with horses and feasting blessed
sparrows — the smoky flavor of your kiss, cake icing
a breakfast of fantasy served with indigo coffee
blond with cream as we both bend to sniff deep aroma:
it is all that it seems, and yet deepest mystery
reveals itself moment by moment in our living.
both here and there, now and then, I sit alone
with you though the world and its strange denizens surround
us in secret separations of space and matter,
experience and affection . . . our magic portal . . .
David M Pitchford
22 Dec 2011