Beginning Poem by Barry Middleton

The ritual of hopefulness
is always the same.

Velvet night is a soft vibration
as my eyes meet hers
with curiosity and fantasies
of what might be.

Later, talking, feeling,
the thread is spun
that wraps us in each other
like a thing hoping to happen.

Plastic gestures cease.

Again there is a breathing thing,
alive like the evening air,
a darting thing like flashing eyes,
a tentative thing, a blessing,
a possibility.