From The Wood That Burns
There will be quiet memories of a kiss.
That when longing burns it smells like hickory.
Things said and done behind the wall of life's mist.
That the seashell of love is not dusted in ivory.
Romantic games we play really are serious.
That opportunities of a lifetime are deceptively few.
That the past fogs the glass like the next day's dew.
The motion of living within a single beam of light.
That not all gardens are grown for good deeds.