To Where Your Mind may Wander

Wherever that may be.

And where should I begin?

    I can smell a distant thunder,

Taste it, over this earthly din – 

It’s closer than the waves I hear lapping at my feet. 

Whenever you decide to soar 

Above false-ruling clouds,

Winds of thought carrying you freely 

Like a flock of unchained hounds

Into realms of reality the rest of us can only dream about;

Whereas your eyes might grant you sight,

Turning me to stone,

     Your tongue & 

Mind can journey the cosmos – 

And… I don’t want to be left alone. 

Wherein do your thoughts lie,

In twin stories of Right and Wrong? 

    Or some embroidered pages of tainted—sorry, stained—glass? 

In the unearthing of an earthly song?

Or in the drumming life in a living thing’s sigh?

Which cheek does your first tear roll down?

Whereon did the happiness of our first meeting,

That greeting between a tear of joy and a cheek who’s

Heat burnt blood unto

Pages of our story, dog-eared by smiles, and keeping

 Warm memories too hot to touch; where did it go...

Play on! Melancholy Symphony of Sound,

Whereupon the leaves of Spring

Learnt they could turn brown in a day, or overnight.

    Ever… so… slowly… they learnt to retreat into the sky – 

    I mean, to earn your attention all they had to do was die,

Right?

So, on their final green night they dreamed of paper moons,

paper pages,

and a paper ring.

But I don’t have the imagination of a leaf,

Nor its ability to play with beauty and time,

    I find no use in retreating before the only thing I know to be divine.

I’ll stand before a hurricane and harness its crimes

Into a second ring upon my swollen finger –  it knows that life and love are natural but brief. 

Who’s to say upon which banks of wane-less shores

With waves wont of worship, grieved,

    Where Woe and Wisdom wake and mimic the movement of the sea,

When words sink a heart longer than a drowned ship,

I’ll know your mind to be… behind some long-closed doors…

Will I ever be free to love you here?

To where your mind may wander,

Wherever that may be,

     In the breath of some unheard laughter,

Or if it’s in the roots of a hidden tree;

Wherever it may be;

I could flick through forests of books – from any future to our past – 

And journey through every church and museum,

And listen to every story told by painted glass,

And in knowing all that is, has, and may yet be,

I fear that I may never be yours outside the gates of Memory. 

So, to where your mind is wandering,

Wherever you might be,

    Just know, that I am always here,

  and I hope you think of me.