2 out of 10 poems....

Bits of internal dialogue...

There's moves under foot. Strange theories,
the air moves surly slow in old places.
The dust rises: within the old thoughts;
love is not evident. Yet bulbs rise pure
.
with the freedoms of spring.
We are so alike and unalike,
You bring in the winter weather, the rain
and snow, the sharp March wind....

I hold the glow of the sun in my hair;
an internal power source. Later when
you will have returned to your centuries -
then is the time to lookback on all this.
.
(c)Rjl2013