Until Twilight Closes On Our Sunlit Dance Poem by William Jackson

Like grunion mystified by the moon,
spawning wildly in crashing surf,
I too am part and parcel of a larger rhythm,
finding a connection, a satisfaction in you.

And you, as breathtakingly beautiful
as white Magnolia blossoms, (your skin
soft as petals beneath my fingertips,)
affirm for me that there is no death, really,
but only a short lived dance under the sun,
a cessation of physicality perhaps,
but ultimately merely a transfer of energy
back to the source and origin
of our existence.

Until twilight closes on our sunlit dance,
just as the whippoorwill serenades its lover,
night and day, day and night,
I will sing of you and drink in
all that is you with my eyes.

I will live in this immediate moment
fully alive in your embrace.