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As Time Rushes Away Arthur Robert Goshin

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OTHER POETRY BY ARTHUR GOSHIN One Hundred and Twenty Four Moons Longing Before Dawn Love’s Cloth Both The Harvest And The Seed Time Changes Nothing The Strange Curiosity of Memory Always Searching for Me Keeper Of Memories A Gate Opens Regardless of Time I Am Who They Were Standing in the Way For What Was, What Is, And What Will Be

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DEDICATION For all of mine who are yet to be born — a wish that your life will be filled with joy, love, wonder, and fulfillment as you endeavor to make the world a better place in exchange for the gift of life.

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About the Poems In the late winter of 2020, as the pandemic began here in the United States, and the trajectory of its impact became clear to me, I decided on a personal project for 2020 and 2021. Namely, to review all of the poems that I had written, select the ones that I would like to share once again, and then to group them by ‘topic’. I further decided that they would best be presented in three different books. This one is the third and last in the series. It includes two ‘topics’, love, and musings. The poems in the musings section are those that I couldn’t readily fit into any of the ‘topic’ areas. And, when I first began writing about fifteen years ago I focused almost exclusively on writing love poems, so there were quite a few of them to choose from.

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About the Photographs All of the floral photographs in this book are actually reflections taken off of a metal surface that I use. That surface is uneven, distressed, and not highly polished, helping to create unique images.

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’The best love is the kind that awakens the soul; that makes us reach for more, that plants the fire in our hearts and brings peace to our minds.’ Walt Whitman(1819 - 1892)

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Musings Love

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Musings ‘A meditation, reflection, contemplation.’ ‘Your thoughts or comments on something you have been thinking carefully about.’

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NATTERING ON OK, I confess. I don’t know what to make of it. There’s danger in even mentioning it. You know, the risk of being called a ‘sexist’. I’m sitting here and watching carefully. Women of all ages, here in this coffeehouse. But, it’s not just now, it’s the same everywhere. It doesn’t seem to vary by neighborhood, area of the country, setting, ethnicity, income level, time of day, time of year, or even country. This fascinating level of animated conversational energy is truly remarkable. And, if you listen carefully, they can talk, natter on, about multitudes of things, at impressive speeds in the brief span

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of a few minutes, even jumping back and forth, diagonally, grazing across topics. And they seem so interested, engaged, in whatever is being said. So, I’d really like to know whether anyone out there really knows, unequivocally —— how do they get like that? I mean, is it genetic, socialized in, or just what? As for me, I like it, am drawn to it, find it one of the things that make women, truthfully, so appealing, so much more interesting. Well, I think I’ll stay here a bit longer to watch, listen, and sure, to have another muffin.

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PULLING BACK THE COVERS The first light of day is once again interrupting. Intruding into the preferred, detached, pleasures of my wondrous dream world. It is insistent. Its radiance has found its way in and is pulling back the very covers of my sleep. Wiping away, bit by bit, the fabulous make believe and ‘what if’ of my dreams. Disturbing and unraveling my warm nest, my cocoon. All attempts to forestall the inevitable, to keep the day at a distance awhile longer, are failing.

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That spectacular inner beauty of quiet is dissipating. Forcing the inevitable confrontation between semi-consciousness and consciousness. Nights’ delightful passivity is rudely being swept away. The every day challenge will require renewed, demonstrable, mastery over the unpredictable daily rebirth and events of life. Well, time has now come for me to peer over the edge and to see what today might bring.

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EACH DAY’S FIRST GIFT Now I know why sometimes I wait. Before the morning, in the dark. Watching while the world is still unformed. Instead of being warm, dreaming, nested in nights’ womb. It is before the sun, before there is light. Before the birds’ sweet songs. Before life moves. I sit, I watch, I wait. Time seems suspended, hovering in mid-air, trying to decide what to do. I wait. Then the first light, pale blue. Each day’s first gift. I sense hope, excitement, the grandeur, the majesty to come. That there is a next, that tomorrow is now today, that once again there is a new start. So, each day I wait.

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SOME DAYS………….. There are some days that overflow with life. That have hypnotic vitality. Days that keep expanding, full of a creative force, their own ‘big bang’. When you are part of both the sunrise and sunset and every moment in between. When you bathe in that day’s warm light, and the world, its beauty, is so plainly visible to you. While there are others that seem to stand still, go on forever, not radiating but only absorbing light and your life energy. Days when being abducted by aliens would be welcomed. You know what I mean, don’t you?

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CHILDHOOD Childhood. It’s about the absence of time. Only present moments. No past, no future. Consequences barely relevant. Completely and intimately embedded in, and part of, the world, not separate from it. Also fantasy, imaginings, ‘what ifs’. Seeing and expecting only goodness, kindness. Loved and loving unconditionally. Fully embracing the magical wonder and delights of life. Childhood.

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UNTETHERED What if gravity didn’t always work? That sometimes you weren’t tethered to the ground. That occasionally you could actually float up. What is it you might want to do? Catch a ride with the wind? Hold onto some clouds and glide along lazily on a summer day? Play tag with the sparrows? Go south with the geese? Tap dance on the stars? Slide down a rainbow perhaps? Just what might it be? Because, you never know.

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AN UNDISCOVERABLE ALIEN Although I had first sensed it was a dream, I am now certain that it was an actual memory. It was dark, deep winter, the house quiet, middle of the night, somehow I sensed it was snowing, not unusual for Buffalo. I got up feeling that there was something I needed to see, to know, and began to search through the house, first downstairs, then up. Everything seemed to be in its place, as it should be. Finally, I reached the unused room at the far end of the upstairs hall.

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The curtains were open, and through the tall windows I could see a full moon through the broken clouds. I stood there looking down into the backyard. The snow was still falling so softly, gently, in large flakes, no wind, and then, there, amongst the trees, were three young deer, carefully, peacefully, searching for scraps of food. I was overcome by the wonder, the surprise and unexpected beauty of the moment, a hidden observer, as though being an undiscoverable alien, coming upon a view of life out in the tundra, far away in place and time, before man appeared and began to despoil the earth.

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SEE THE HEAVENS FILL Do you ever take the time? Time to watch the wonder, the grandeur. A reminder of how lucky you are. Well, why don’t you? Yes, tonight. Go ahead, take a chair outside. Just before the sun is about to rotate down below the horizon. Keep your eyes on the sky. Watch all of the spectacular majesty of daytime disappearing. Then, the magnificence of the arrival of nighttime. Now, sit for awhile longer and see the heavens fill. Really something, isn’t it?

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MUSIC OF THE CITY I hear the rhythms, the music of the city. Sure, it varies depending on where I am. You need to listen though, carefully, identify the ‘instruments’, find the connection to your own internal music and then ‘hear’ it all as a new original song, now your song. Right now I’m in a coffeeshop, dishes are clanking, a woman in heels pounding the hard floor, soft classical music in the background, a Mom talking to her two kids as they’ve stopped on the way to school,

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espresso machine steaming, cars and trucks on a busy street with some honking plus a whooshing sound since its been raining, sort of like a jazz ensemble trying to find a shared pathway, and my contribution is the tone, the warm, gentle, emotion of what I’m feeling as I type this poem that softens and slows down the outer intensity a bit. Nice, real nice. Yes, the city is filled with wondrous music. You just have to listen.

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AS NIGHT DESCENDS Night is descending. It’s winter, late afternoon, the sun is hanging low onto the disappearing horizon. My shades are up, and a soft glow of fading light mixes with reflections off of windows from neighboring buildings. I sit in my chair, lights off, here at this moment, but uncertain whether I will be later, but where else would that be? While time, for me, seems to have stopped, I do hear the barely audible, rhythmic ticking of a clock somewhere. I’m staring at a half filled glass of water on a nearby table, watching as a stray, dying, sunbeam passes through it, wondering if this moment has some other hidden significance for me. Maybe I’ll find out, maybe I won’t.

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THIS RESTLESSNESS There is this unsettling restlessness in each of us. A challenge that we struggle to contain, to understand, to shape. It is this vague belief that there may be a better place, person, life, for us somewhere else out there. That there is this imperative to wonder and search, so that this something else might be found. Much of our life’s happiness depends on our ability to be master of this restlessness, to value and savor the wonder and beauty that we often do have.

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AS THE DAY SLIPS AWAY This day, like all those before and all those ahead, has begun to slip, to fade away. Night is coming. The city streets are starting to fill with folks on their way home, or wherever they need to be. All moving to some sort of eventual, but predictable, cycle of closure. Down into the subway, hailing a cab, waiting for their Uber, a bus, over to a garage to get their car, a walk home through crowded streets to their apartment. Shutters rolling down at some shops, others staying open a bit longer hoping for yet more customers. Unrecognized, as they move about is the reality, the immutability, of how the end of this day diminishes their available time.

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PETOPHILIA Warning: If you are a dog owner you might not want to read this poem.

I’ve had it. I’m tired of dogs running loose, getting underfoot on mountain trails, barking and disturbing my solitude, seeing their ‘remains’ along the way, then walking the streets and trying to avoid more of their ‘remains’ and their ‘liquid’ dripping across the sidewalks. It’s as though the owners believe that they and their dogs have some natural rights, in spite of laws to the contrary, to do whatever, wherever, and they have obviously lost perspective, appropriateness, and any respect for humans. Ok, while I’m venting, there’s more……….

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I just don’t get this need to be master over another species, to keep them bound up in leather and chains around their necks, and to make them sit and beg for food and treats. Not sure what Dr. Freud would say is the underlying personality disorder that motivates owners to pick-up and handle those warm, soft, odored ‘remains’ every day. Gee, we can’t wait for our children to be toilet trained but it’s somehow ok to be picking up after their dog forever. I’m astounded at how many dog owners are also petophiliacs…..I mean sleeping with another species??!! What’s that about, and what does it say about the desire for intimacy with one’s partner/spouse or any human? When intimacy does manage to finally occur just where are those dogs? If there is a need to express caring maybe the huge amounts of money and time spent on dogs would be better invested with adorable, needy kids, right?

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Also, so many of those owners are always talking to their dogs as though they understand. I pass people in full conversation, so are they really waiting for a response from these sweet but plainly dumb animals ………just because it wags its tail doesn’t mean it understands. So, dog owners, please keep them on a leash, no waste of any kind where humans might step, no barking, and, I guess, go ahead and sleep and talk with who, or should I say, whatever you want.

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A MANIFEST DESTINY It comes from almost nothing. From seemingly invisible bits, particles, the tiniest, that gather together, somehow knowing what they need to do from an embedded instructional manual containing informational complexities beyond our understanding, telling how to achieve a manifest destiny, how to expand to billions of required pieces that harmonize, to support each other, how to replicate, to enable survival, even able to adapt, to evolve in response to new realities. In the end, its own magnificent star system, in its time able to achieve unimaginable wonders before its end. Life.

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APRICOTS AND FRESH BREAD The pine needles have set themselves as though exercising free will to symmetrical perfection under the awakening blue sky. The sun and all of its attendant glory waits patiently to make its grand entrance. The morning air, a strange mix of apricots and fresh bread. Hunger or an olfactory hallucination? Alone, but somehow feeling connected to everything and everyone in the cosmos. I begin my morning hike on Mt. Atalaya. Regardless of what else, this day will be magnificent.

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MEN DON’T UNDERSTAND Some women understand this and enjoy a truly great power. Unfortunately, men don’t. Men constantly misjudge the level of attention women grant them. Believing there is more, much more, being offered than is the case. Why, exactly, is speculative. I don’t think it’s because men are more hopeful. It’s simply a little wiring defect. A trusting of women that comes from our mothers’ love. It’s not that we’re fools, well mostly not. It’s just a sweet gullibility.

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THE LAST GLOW It’s late afternoon, early winter. I’m sitting on my portillo, wearing a coat, reading. The sun has begun its final descent to somewhere behind the nearby Jemez Mountains. It feels like this is today’s special moment because, for me, each day has at least one. The book’s pages are at first lit by the candle-like glow created by a departing winter sun. Gradually though, all becomes dark, quiet, until the book has disappeared in my hands, and the only sound is a breeze gently rustling through the few remaining leaves on a neighboring plum tree.

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GRAND CENTRAL The shafts of golden morning light filter in blessing all who pass under the nave of this temple to humanity’s grand constellation. Technology harnessed for our use, to serve all the people. We swarm across, purposeful, to build our lives. All equal in the moment, going where we need to be. What grandeur!

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DAY’S FIRST CHOICE It’s just before another dawn. Middle of the city. Night slithering away to have its sleep. The night sky begins to lighten. Surprisingly quiet, as in the middle of a cornfield on a remote farm. I stand at the window. Shades up, watching. Not sure for what. Nothing moving yet.

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Daydreaming, drifting. Wondering. How will my day unfold? Should I just take it as it comes, knowing how much wonder lies in serendipity, the unplanned, the unexpected, since I see every day as a new creation? Or, should I just make a list, a schedule to be followed, be intentional, purposeful? Day’s first choice.

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TWINKLING LIGHTS It’s dusk, late summer, and just below the far horizon on the facing eastern slope of the Jemez Mountains the lights of Los Alamos have begun to twinkle, calling out to be noticed. Further above, the stars and galaxies, so many light years distant, are making their appearance, competing for my attention. I lean back in my chair to watch the light show as it fills and brightens against the darkening backdrop. The gentle twill of birds fades as harmonizing insects take over. These are brief, treasured, moments of peace and comfort in a world that feels as though it has begun to unravel.

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JUST FOR ME I’m out now for my early morning Sunday walk. In the city. Summer, few people about. As I turn east, far down at the end of the street, the sun, framed by the tall apartment buildings, is inching its way up and up as though strutting its stuff just for me. Not a cloud in the sky. As I cross the street, the rumbling of the subway underground disturbs the strange quiet. I briefly wonder who might be on the train this early, and where they’re going. For a brief moment, I imagine I’m standing in a beautiful meadow, glancing about at the majestic mountains. The moment passes as I step off the curb and head to Joe’s for a cappuccino and one of their delicious dark chocolate donuts.

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PREDAWN INDIGO The night was drawing to a close. Very still, dark, early. The sky cloud filled, starless. I stood at the Mt. Atalaya trailhead waiting for this morning’s first light and the predawn indigo until I could see the trail itself. As always, I had no expectation of finding anything new or different, just out for the wondrous solitude of a daybreak hike, allowing for first reflections, self-awareness. As my eyes finally adjusted, I started out. Up ahead I could now just see what was next, and there, a bit beyond that, I thought, perhaps, maybe, if I could, I might get a glimpse of the future.

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WAITING I dreamt that I was waiting. Sitting on this straight back chair, in the middle of a flat grassy field that stretched on and on beyond the horizon’s downward slope. I was alone. Not even birds or butterflies. There was no wind, no trees. The sun was brilliant, fixed, unmoving, alone in the sky. There was no night. I felt neither warmth nor cold. I couldn’t tell my age. It seemed as though I had always been there, and would always be there. Waiting, patiently, but without expectation. I didn’t know why or for what. I was just waiting.

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SEARCHING I am out here, there somewhere. Wrapped tightly in the black cloth of the night. Embraced by it. Indistinguishable from it. Part of it. Unseen. Not sure where I begin and it continues. Searching. But, not sure for what exactly. For meaning, surely. But, for what else? I’m not really sure. Wish I knew. Or do I?

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AN EMPTINESS She stood there for the last time. Everything that had once been in this house seemed to be gone. No, not the furniture, not the things, but the memories, the laughter, the wonder, the love, the hopes that the future was boundless. Inside she felt the emptiness that she saw. Now, uncertain, that she would ever feel that way again.

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A LOST BATTLE They could tell that the battle was being lost in spite of all repeated heroic efforts. It was no longer possible to forestall, to turn back, to alter, the gradual but persistent decay (well, perhaps ‘fading’ would be a more sensitive word) of their external facades, physical veneer. Devoted, skillful restoration no longer really seemed to work to their satisfaction. Time, nature, gravity, were having their inevitable, unforgiving way. Forcing them to reluctantly accept this reality. ‘Well, they thought — maybe some other day’.

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SILENCE Treasuring the opportunity for personal reflection, the singular internal contemplation of the wonders of the surrounding world seems out of fashion, in behavioral exile, most especially for the young, the ‘millennials’(aka the ‘Selfie’ Generation). The obsessive need to connect constantly with their ‘smart’ phone for music, conversation, games, their social media sites, to find out what everyone had for lunch, seem to be life’s priorities. You can regularly pass people on remote mountain trails, in beautiful parks, on trains, planes, and on the street, with all sorts of devices in or covering their ears,

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blocking out what surrounds them, with music noise often essential, as though purposely eliminating the external, their internal thoughts, reflections. But what about taking time to notice and enjoy the special silence contained in passing clouds, in sunrises and sunsets, in the faces of infants, in the joy of children anywhere, in the wizened thoughtful facial contemplation of seniors, of the moon in the darkness of night, or reflecting on possible opportunities to make the world and others better, or how to bring more love and happiness into one’s life, or to simply enjoy moments of nothingness, or……….?

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AT THE EDGE My toes are curled tightly around the very edge. The edge between night and dreams, and I’m starting to tilt forward, ready to tumble into the soothing comfort of REM sleep and my own fantasia filled with the seemingly improbable and indecipherable. Some days I bring my pal Freud along but he surely is as baffled as I am, even though he claims otherwise, and he is always mumbling words like ‘repressed’, ’sexuality’. Well, of course! Admit it, isn’t that a critical reality? Well, ok, surely not everything has to have obvious meaning. For me, dreams are mostly unexpected, unpredictable entertainment, surely not as good as ‘Game of Thrones’, but what else is? And, it’s fascinating how my daytime conscious mind just shuts off and its nighttime twin quickly takes over center stage, able to create its own world without having to go anywhere.

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‘WOMEN, WHAT IS IT ABOUT YOUR FEET?’ ‘Women, what is it about your feet?’ What is this so strange preoccupation, this apparent obsession? Oh, it’s not only about the shoes, with every woman being their own version of Imelda Marcos. Have to have, must have, multiple versions of flats, different size heels, different finishes, colors, seasonal variants, what’s ‘au courant’. Even when they are rarely or not worn at all anymore they are kept as trophies, forever it seems. Easier to give up a husband/partner than the favorite pair of shoes. Then the feet themselves ——— the smoothing, polishing, and the nails with all the color variations and features, also occasional toe rings, and increasingly small tattoos. I recall in 2008 when the economy tanked that all the nail salons were more packed than ever. It doesn’t seem to matter that suspicious chemicals are used, or that the workers are a notch above slaves.

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Just stand and watch the pedicure process ——— I mean the women sit on thrones, with hand(foot?) maidens giving them a massage, perfecting their nails, and adding the glitter of polish. Ok, now I’ve begun to notice that even fairly unkempt women often have model’s feet. It is also a place where more elderly women have realized that their feet, when well cared for, show far less the markers of aging, and may even be worthy of being admired. And it seems to be universal, regardless of geography, circumstances, age. It’s a must do, must have, life priority, with common sense and cost being irrelevant. Women, I assume that you realize that all of this is truly incomprehensible to men. Men, there’s really nothing to be done, so my best advice is to just say, ‘you have gorgeous feet, and I love your shoes’. You surely will be very well rewarded for that!

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THE ROSE READING ROOM I thought it was the center of a grand palace. Perhaps, even, a holy place. Spectacular, breathtaking, the largest room I had ever seen. The heavens were painted on the far above ceilings. Shafts of golden morning light filtered in through the high windows. Although filled with people at the many tables, there was a hushed quiet, books being reverently held and studied as though they themselves were

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newly born wonders, reminding me of when the elders were in silent prayer reading their prayer books at my synagogue. The Rose Reading Room at the main branch of the New York Public Library, 42nd and 5th. I was six years old, and it was my first visit to a library. My mother had taken me. The moment was an imprint, that libraries, books, words, ideas, were special, and would, thereafter, always be so for me. Revered.

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A SWEET BEGINNING Every morning should be a sweet beginning. When you see the beauty of every sunrise in each person’s face, a brilliant flower in each of their eyes, listening to the rhythmic, soothing music of the natural sounds all around you, with air that smells of freshly baked cookies, and hear the sounds of echoing laughter of children playing nearby. When you know that wonder and surprise are just up ahead, and you can actually hear the heartbeat of your loved one quicken as they approach. When every person is a door waiting to be opened, and you just have to choose which ones you want to walk through.

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IT’S OK TO DO NOTHING Sometimes, just let the sweet delight of the day embrace you. Be part of it, not apart from it. You don’t need to do anything, you just need to be, observing, reflecting on surfaces, to simply notice, with no need to absorb, to make things more than they are, or to analyze, to try and decipher, or to try and take some action to make some unknown difference. Yes, it’s ok to be mellow, to chill, to sometimes hold nothing in your hands, just like Giacometti’s sculpture, ‘Holding Nothing’, and to just notice the beauty and wonder around you.

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LEFT BEHIND I have this recurring, vague, troubling sense that in a place of my childhood I have left something important behind. Perhaps in a drawer, hidden behind a piece of furniture, tucked away in a toy, in one of the closets, or maybe in the pocket of a jacket. And if found would trigger a special treasured memory, one that would provide an important link, a connection, from the before to now, giving me a sense of completion that I need as my time moves to an end.

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WHAT’S MISSING? What more could I possibly want? Don’t I already have everything? I’ve had every bit of joy and happiness that I ever could have imagined. Actually, even far more than that. But yet, periodically, a little sliver of incompletion seems to slip in. Because something seems to be missing. I don’t, however, have a clue what that might be. I can’t determine its source. It’s sort of a small shadow that covers a small edge of my sun. But, if I don’t know what it is, how will I know what to do about it?

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ENCOUNTER OF ANOTHER KIND I was going uptown, she downtown. Opposite subway platforms. Night. We had arrived at about the same time, both having just missed our trains. No one else on either platform. Our eyes connected, she smiled, raised her hand and gave a brief wave. I returned both. She glanced around to see if anyone else was there, unclipped her hair, let it down, and swirled her head side to side. A few seconds passed, then another smile as she unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse to reveal the top of her cleavage.

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I motioned with my hands, reinforced by mouthing the word ‘more’. Swaying in a slow rhythm she began to raise her skirt, bringing it a few inches above her knees to show her shapely legs. I smiled and applauded as she blew me a Marilyn Monroe-like kiss. I heard her train approaching. She motioned for me to wait there and smiled. Her train arrived, I saw her get on, come to the window opposite me, press her generous lips to the window for a last kiss, a smile, and a wave goodbye. And then she was gone. I stood there, still alone, waiting for my train.

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ENDANGERED QUEEN You hardly notice it’s there. The Santa Fe River. It sort of quietly meanders through the town, as though embarrassed that it can’t live up to its name. Rarely actually flowing. But truly, it is a river, a branch of the Rio Grande. Voted the ‘most endangered’ river in the country. But it’s Autumn now, and all the cottonwoods that encase the river are showing off their bright golden leaves, and when the sun further illuminates their beauty, with a soft breeze causing their reflection to shimmer in the sparse water, the river looks like royalty, wearing resplendent jewels —— the gorgeous Queen of all rivers.

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‘WELL, HOW WONDERFUL IS THAT!’ I’m not sure what I experienced then, or exactly how to describe it, or what its precise effect, meaning, if any, was for me. But last week there was this unexpected, overcast, gloomy rainy day that seemed to stretch on and on, and then suddenly, late in the afternoon it ended, with the sky then filled with a deep blue illuminated by a soft golden light that was so deliciously warm and radiant as it caressed my face, with the ground offering up the gift of the fragrance of impending new life. I was so overcome with the brilliant perfection of the moment that I said aloud to myself, ‘well, how wonderful is that!’

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EVERYTHING OR NOTHING? Think for a second. The role of chance in a life. Everything or nothing? This sperm uniting with that egg. That family or this family who takes you home from the hospital. An almost deadly car accident barely avoided. Going to this school or that school. Saying yes to a date with this person or that person. Going for this job interview or that one. It goes on and on. You’ll never really know about the ‘what ifs’, the ‘what might have beens’. The outcomes of a life are much more random, dependent on serendipity and good fortune than we care to admit.

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THE DISAPPEARING CHILD Do you remember the child you once were? I don’t mean from all those pictures, or from stories told by others. No, not the specific objective facts, but the subjective feelings. The carefree happiness, the wonder, the constant playfulness, the innocence. The inventiveness, the pleasure in small things, the easy and constant laughter. The sense of self-importance, the questions.

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You being tightly linked to the rest of the known world, not separate from it. The warmth of the love and affection unconditionally given and received. Do you ever now carefully watch children at play? Do you ever puzzle over when all that good ’stuff’ disappeared, and to where it went? Well, you know, maybe it’s not gone but just misplaced. So, why not try to find it again? Yes, why not right now? Things might be so much better with that child back in your life.

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Love ‘O’ Love……we bask in your warmth and glory, we live for your delights, suffer your disappointments, and dwell on your mysteries.’

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THE MORNING IN YOUR EYES What do I care for the perfect dawn or blue and sun filled skies? It is always dark night for me without seeing the morning in your eyes.

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REGARDLESS OF TIME It is a constant wonder to me. How I remain inexplicably pulled so strongly to you. Some fundamental force of nature for which there seems to be no counter force. You might think that such emotions would have been carried away by an unanticipated breeze due to time and circumstance. But the opposite seems to be true. That time has only strengthened that bond. So, know that you are always safe here in my heart, regardless of time.

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SACRIFICE They had both come to understand that a selfless willingness to sacrifice one’s own needs, desires, and preferences to one’s other is what gives love its most special meaning.

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DEFYING GRAVITY While I had always thought that the flame of desire would burn down on life’s wick with advancing age, it seems that mine and its intimate companion, passion, seem committed to defying natural gravity, hovering weightlessly above as the possibilities of love lead me on.

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LOVERS’ MANIFESTO Be constantly open to the wonder of love. Do not be satisfied with the routine of routine. Be adventurous, finding new ways to express your love. Every day tell your lover that they are adored and cherished. Every day. Ignore inadvertent fallibility. When in doubt --- talk. Dream, imagine ways of being together. Do unto your lover as you would…….

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LOVE, THE GIVER O’ Love, our lips speak of your many wonders. We bask in your warmth and glory, we live for your delights, suffer your disappointments, and dwell on your mysteries. You are the giver of life’s best moments. You are the bard of our hearts, singing to us your sweet melodies of romance and passion. We hope for the blessing of your presence within us, and graciously accept the gifts of joy you offer us each day.

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ECHOES AHEAD IN TIME I want my words of love to you to endure, to echo ahead in time. So when later, tomorrow, and beyond me, you will always know of my love, hear my words, feel my emotions, sense my presence, know that I am still, and will always be, there with you.

Love • 97

WHAT IS LOVE? What is love? Our most intimate needs fulfilled by the other. Spiritually one not two. Your emotional needs first. I dream of you night and day. I want to be with only you. There is only you. Physical pleasures beyond comprehension, but yours first. I want to see your face as I close my eyes at night, and feel you in my arms when I awake.

98 • Love

We are drawn to each other, to experience the full range of our shared pleasures and preferences. Your hand in mine under every moonrise. Together every morning. Sharing ideas, books, interests. ‘How was your day?’, and caring. Nothing ever taken for granted. Words of love at every chance. Making your love and passion stronger each day so that it will last forever and ever.

Love • 99

100 • Love

TIME CHANGES NOTHING Even more than sixty years on, I still long to play with my yellow truck, have my milk and cookies, want my mother’s warmth and my father’s time. I still want to be the sheriff in ‘High Noon’, feel my toes in the sand, kick stones in the street. And, even after all of these years, I still yearn to relive all of our times together. Indeed, time changes nothing.

Love • 101

A SHARED VESSEL It is our first breaths of the coming dawn that finally cools the fire of our fevered passions. In the next moments, with fingers and bodies intertwined, we whisper our delight in being a shared vessel into which we have been able to pour all of our love and dreams.

102 • Love

Love • 103

AS TIME RUSHES AWAY As time rushes with increasing speed away from me, I frequently find myself seeking to be alive in yesterdays. There is this growing weight of guilt for not having made sure that my moments of greatest remembered and shared happiness and pleasure were not more central, frequent, dominant in my life. I had thought that opportunities for such moments would be endless, and always there for me.

104 • Love

…………..I held her then, so tightly to me in the night…………I could feel her breathing, the beating of her heart, the warmth and fragrance of her skin……….

Moments of the most supreme intimacy, when we were just one, not two, undisturbed, as though there was nothing else in the world to do and such moments would last forever.

Love • 105

EACH KISS Each kiss is its own message of intimacy. We are one. I commit to you, you to me. The overture and coda of our love. The beginning and end of each encounter. It stirs what follows. Yes the lips, but not only. In our embrace, exponential passion. The kiss ignites. In parallel, each kiss magnifies. A trance of unparalleled response.

106 • Love

Who knew? Heavenly sweetness, How could it be? The tenderness, the fusing together. Can’t, won’t let go. Please, forever. Each kiss is both a promise and a promise fulfilled. We are, and will always be, bound together.

Love • 107

108 • Love

MY MUSE Muse, you are my guide. You are my inspiration. Neglect, indifference and my hands refuse to write, my mind empties, my heart calcifies, I become ignorant of joy. Doubt rules. Be careful, I am more delicate, more fragile, than you could know, than I imagined. Out of balance I’m not sure how to recapture equilibrium. I become adrift, needing to find my shore. You.

Love • 109

MASTER OF THE UNIVERSE O’ Master of the Universe. You have blessed me with my Beloved. For this greatest of gifts I am eternally grateful. She is the light that illuminates my path. She makes the air that I breathe new and fragrant. She feels like warm spun silk. She tastes like the sweetest of your nectars. Her face shines, her eyes sparkle with the brilliance of a million of your suns. I am humbled by your generosity.

110 • Love

Love • 111

112 • Love

LOVE MATTER When we are close, really close, I feel porous, permeable. As though I’m both absorbing you, and a torrent rushing to you. That our ‘love matter’ is in rapid flow. That we are freely seeping into each other across a steep gradient, with all of our senses experiencing the wonder.

Love • 113

MORE I want more. More time. I want to see my children and their children grow old, happy, fulfilled. To always feel the warmth and splendor of the sun, to experience all of the beauty and wonders of life. To see the end of poverty and suffering. To know that the earth is safe. To see a thousand more full moons and every sunrise and sunset in between. To help find more ways to make the world a better place. And, to always be with you, to always have you close, to share our love. Always.

114 • Love

Love • 115

116 • Love

A HEART’S AFFIRMATION My heart’s memory is indeed short. As it irrationally fears homelessness, it periodically seeks your affirmation. It longs for your embrace, the sweet delicacy of your lips, your ardent intent, to feel the beat of your heart against it, to know the tender eros of your touch, to hear the sirens’ call of your song, to share your heavenly passions, and to know that it remains joined with its forever other.

Love • 117

LOVE RACES THROUGH MY HEART Each and every day I feel the warm wind of our love race through my heart. Just as I know that desire begets desire, I see how love begets even more intense love. So, what was at first, long ago, a most gentle barely discernible breeze is now a whirlwind of such ferocity that I am swept away.

118 • Love

Love • 119

120 • Love

WHAT I NEED I don’t need you to just love me. I need you to love me and to want me. All of the time. As I do you. Yes, both loved and desired. Anytime, all of the time.

Love • 121

THE CALL OF THE SIRENS How did Odysseus resist the call of the Sirens to avoid being destroyed? Because, maybe there’s a lesson for me, just in case. In case sometime in the future I need to stop this uncontrollable imperative to be drawn to your ‘call’. Not that I really want to stop, but the ‘call’ does make me confused. Oh yes, now I remember. Odysseus ordered his men to plug his ears with wax and strap him to the ship’s mast. Mmm… sure, that might work.

122 • Love

Love • 123

124 • Love

CRUELTY Lovemaking. One of the marvels and rewards is how you so quickly become removed from the often less pleasant realities of the world. And enter a fabulous, ethereal place of ecstatic joy. That you can revisit when your good fortune allows. But, one of life’s cruelties is how relatively brief the journey, how quickly you are returned to the same place you started at, and how rapidly the memory of the experience fades.

Love • 125

YES, PLEASE CONSUME I love your hunger for me. So yes, please consume. To your heart’s content. Don’t stop. Not now, not ever. Know that my joy is the twin of yours. To be desired by whom you desire. To be loved by whom you love. Unabated, continually, constantly. Perfect emotional symmetry. A fully reconciled life. Heaven on earth. You are.

126 • Love

Love • 127

WHAT IF I JUST............? It’s the wind. The snow tapping against the window. Dawn is dawning. Now awake, I turn to you. You are deep in REM sleep. On your back. So still, barely breathing. Face serene, beautiful, delicious, irresistible. Lips dry, just parted, me struggling to resist. Watching, enjoying.

128 • Love

Both your hands high up near your neck. Oh, that neck. Your contours calling me. What is the dream, am I in it? Right leg, next to me, uncovered. Mmm…oh my, my. What if I just lift the cover and….?

Love • 129

ON THE WINGS OF HAPPINESS O’ happiness, in the silence of this new morning I feel your wings begin to unfold and lift me upward. The sun’s first light fills my sky with smiles. A butterfly’s meandering sets a carefree route for us this day. The rising mist from the lake moistens a grateful meadow, giving hope to morning flowers. Now, let’s continue on our journey. Take me to my Love, then let her also climb upon your wings, and then take us both to those places of wonder where we need to be.

130 • Love

Love • 131

132 • Love

IT IS DESIRE Desire. I am propelled forward by desire. The desire for love, meaning, intimacy, knowledge, joy, creation, wisdom, inner calm, truth, happiness, a life that makes the one for others better, that extends my line forward. When I seem to obtain that which I seek the desire is only momentarily fulfilled. It is in a never ending supply. An endless cycle that anticipates a completion that never occurs. It is desire.

Love • 133

DANCING ON STARS Last night I dreamt that you and I were dancing on stars across the night sky. Imagine. You were wrapped in a long, white, diaphanous gown. I was in a black tux with tails and a top hat. The full moon’s glow kept its spotlight on us. With each step we moved as one from star to star. You were radiant, beautiful, slightly flushed, eyes sparkling. We danced all night in each others’ arms across the galaxy, celebrating being alone, together.

134 • Love

Love • 135

SUMMER DRIFTING Well, here I am. Enjoying this day. And, why not? Alone, peaceful, in this beautiful park. Everything and everyone seems in harmony. The flowers are open, smiling, sweetening the air. The trees, the grasses are swaying and nodding to me in full agreement.

136 • Love

The children are laughing, happy as they should be. I lean back, the sun warming my face as I start to drift into an hypnotic summer haze. I sense your presence, even from this distance. Content, my eyes close as I float into your waiting arms.

Love • 137

138 • Love

A SHARED LIFE In the sharing of a life it is often enough to just be together in the fullness of days while in the occasional pursuit of joint and individual dreams and hopes even if you never find what it was you had thought at the beginning that you had wanted. Because a shared journey of caring, intimacy, and love, is itself a life of beauty and wonder. Truly.

Love • 139

INTIMACY Intimacy. Love, it’s about intimacy. Intimacy given, intimacy received. Mutual, simultaneous. Never withheld. The desire never diminished. Always exploring boundaries. First fulfilling the other. The tie that binds. Its prospect drives passion. The source of dreams and desires. Intimacy. Love.

140 • Love

Love • 141

142 • Love

LOVE CRUSH Is it really possible, at my age, after all these years? To still have the same undiminished ‘love crush’ for you? I mean such craving, unbridled desire. Such hungry yearning, such passionate longing. So gratifying, yet so unsettling. The fulfillment so quickly followed by the intense pining angst, needing yet fulfillment once again. The romantic lust, the wanton tenderness, the...., the.... . OK, OK. Yes, it definitely is possible!!

Love • 143

LOVE’S CLOTH Fragments, remembrances. At ocean’s edge, brilliant sun, strong breeze, strands of hair brush across your delicate, luminous face. Candlelit dinner, hand in hand, your tender smile stirs my heart. Cold winter night, walk along lake’s edge, full moon, stars, a kiss to be remembered for a lifetime. You with child, so serene, my hand, yours on mine, movement. Afternoon in bed, you asleep, nested in my arms, your soft warmth,

144 • Love

the slow rhythm of your breathing. Your resplendent laughter, echoes of your inner joy and happiness. Through the lens, delighting in your beauty, the red rocks as background. Bed again, passion, ecstatic joy at the giving and receiving. These are fragments of cherished memories held onto by my heart, all woven together into the fullness of love’s cloth.

Love • 145

146 • Love

YOUR NEARNESS Your nearness. That is what I crave, most need, most want. Knowing that you are close, having you close. To hold, to see, to talk to, to be with. Close to your loving warmth, your sweetness, your tenderness, your beauty. The ready opportunity for intimacy, to affirm our love. With no regrets for time lost. The immediate chance to give as much, and much more, than I receive. Being together, undisturbed.

Love • 147

THE CURVE OF YOUR BACK Let me draw you close. Oh, still closer. Let me fit the curve of your back tightly to my chest. Let me taste the sweet salt on your neck from the heat of us as one. Then let’s follow each other, together in our dreams. To our places of wonder and hope.

148 • Love

Love • 149

150 • Love

LOVE NEEDS TIME TOGETHER Love needs time together. To take root, to be nourished, to blossom. Through all seasons, through all years, through all moments. Time for words. Time for touching. Time for understanding. Time for all intimacies. Time for all passions. Time for the comfort of nearness. Time to stand in each others’ place, to know the other. Time to savor wonderment. Time to share. Time to surprise, to astonish. Time gone can’t be recaptured. Take the time.

Love • 151

THE WOMAN YOU HAVE BECOME Be happy with the woman you have become. Your secret is that you have kept the child in the adult. Having acquired the words to express the feelings, the feelings haven’t disappeared. You believe that laughter knows no end. You are constantly surprised by the wonders around you, seeing the good intent in the world. You dream, you hope. You know the warmth and delights of unconditional love given and received. Yes, be happy with the woman you have become.

152 • Love

Love • 153

154 • Love

ANOTHER STIRRING The afternoon has passed, night has arrived. We lie as one, catching our breath. Our heartbeats slow. I still feel your pulsing rhythm. As you move slightly, your chest strokes mine. I marvel at the grace of the curls along the back of your neck. I softly caress the erotic curves down the full length of your back. You kiss my fingers that were resting on your heated cheek. All this and your sweet fragrance creates an unanticipated stirring.....

Love • 155

AT THE VERY EDGE I watch. I wait. At the very edge. Just out of sight. In the fold of awareness. You sense it’s me. Coiled. Burning. Ready. My hunger ravenous. My thirst unquenchable. My desire insatiable. I don’t sleep. I must be ready. Always. For a word, a call, a sign. From you. That my time is here, is now.

156 • Love

Love • 157

158 • Love

MY MORNING FLOWER My morning flower. Now basking in the awakening glow. I am drawn to where your heavenly scent directs. Your delicate, pink, soft petals so serenely yield to my first touch. Then gently unfold to offer up the gifts beneath. Your honeyed nectar moistens a pathway to all delights. Why resist such temptations?

Love • 159

MORE ON LOVE Love craves reciprocation. Love makes hope potent. Love demands constant nurturing. Love requires shared obligation. Love is restless. Love both magnifies and obscures fault. Love is both tolerant and intolerant. Love is both patient and desperate. Love is the sustenance of meaningful life.

160 • Love

Love • 161

162 • Love

MY VALENTINE My Sweet Venus, your cupid has pierced my heart with a thousand arrows. The mere mention of your name sets my heart pounding, brings romantic melodies to my ears, inflames my flesh, creates expectations of passion well beyond the capacity of words to describe. I soar to the heavens in your actual presence. You are, and will always be, my one true valentine.

Love • 163

WATCHING I watch as you sleep. Just inches away. Your nearness warms me. Your delectable lips, slightly apart, call to mine. Eye movements under your lids, am I in the dream? Your skin, silvery in the darkness. I lift the covers to see more. The curves, erotic, I can’t resist touching. You turn, I admire. I put my arm under yours and draw into you. So happy to be together as one. I drift off, with you.

164 • Love

Love • 165

LONGING BEFORE DAWN I await the dawn. Who knows what it might bring? I’m like a child the morning of their birthday. I try to levitate the sun over the treetops. The thrill of what’s next. It’s about hope, about surprise, about ‘tabula rasa’, about renewal. It’s also about how things stay connected. A continuing thread.

166 • Love

My ‘string theory’. Yes, just before dawn I have this powerful longing, this intense anticipation. Almost uncontainable. This longing before dawn is for you, only you. Will we have real time together, and what might it be like? Will we have a chance for all intimacies? Then, if not, I know that there will always be another dawn. Tomorrow.

Love • 167

168 • Love

RESTING, WAITING The room is now empty, unoccupied. Soft light filters in, creating shifting shadows and shapes across the vacant bed. The forms silent, quiescent. The pillows indented, in slumber. The top sheet and blanket askew, angled to each other, peaceful. This all in stark contrast to the velocity of movement, energy, voltage, fusion, fission, of just moments ago. And so it is. Everything now resting, waiting. Until the next time.

Love • 169

TIME SUSPENDED We were in our own garden. Far from everywhere, far from anywhere. Sitting there high in the air, on a bed of giant sunflowers, our feet dangling over the edge. Holding hands. Multi-colored sparrows darting around. Stark white hummingbirds humming a concerto. A stream meandering nearby filled with pale blue swans. The air with the fragrance of a magnificent bakery. A rainbow formed a canopy just above. Time suspended. You and I forever.

170 • Love

Love • 171

172 • Love

LOVE KNOWS Never hold back. Do not restrain. Love is a master that requires full obedience. Forget doubt, do not question. The heart knows its own direction. Its intent is pure. To give unfathomable happiness. To give pleasure and create bonds of everlasting joy. To please, to surprise, to give hope. And when brief parting darkens the sky, know that reuniting is like a thousand sunrises.

Love • 173

A PURE WHITE LIGHT I stand at the edge, waiting. Waiting for the day’s first moments. A sweet, fresh mist comes rolling in, encasing me at the shore. With the first light I begin my run and soon feel the long moist grass try to wrap around my legs. I continue to savor the cool salty air, and watch the nearby terns dance to escape the incoming waves.

174 • Love

Deep, steady breaths create a relaxing rhythm, my mantra. In this state my thoughts drift to you, surely asleep, still waiting there for me, radiating that pure white light there on your cloud of sheets and pillows, while the last of the moonlight mixes with the first of dawn enhancing your glow. I quicken my pace realizing that the sooner I finish the sooner I can slip under the covers to enjoy your warmth and the rest of that morning.

Love • 175

176 • Love

IN THE HEART Love. It is assembled in the heart. Gradually pieced together, little by little. At first it hardly has any substance, perhaps just vapors really, like slices of wind being glued together by imagination. Until it begins to take some form, accumulates substance, becomes tactile, recognized for what it is now becoming. And then, if lucky, finds true reciprocity, bonds with its twin, blossoms, flowers, receives its needed nourishment, becomes fragrant, produces nectar, joy, happiness.

Love • 177

REMEMBER ME AND SMILE My Love, promise me. Do not weep when you hear my voice whispering words of love in your dreams. Do not weep when remembering the wonder of who, together, we were. Know that, although I’m gone, you will readily find my heart in your memories, residing in these poems, and ever so tenderly in your dreams.

178 • Love

Know that during our times I was always busy gathering up bits of you that I found in the beauty of every sunrise and sunset, in the sweet fragrance of mornings’ flowers, in the joy and laughter of our children and grandchildren, in all the world’s wonders, and then kept them bound up with you so tightly in my heart. So, do not weep, but always remember me and smile.

Love • 179

180 • Love

WHEN My Love, when we are apart and you feel the wind blow across your face think of my lips gliding along your neck, your cheek, your lips, and lingering there. When you feel the warmth of the sun on your legs imagine the heat of my hands caressing them gently, then higher and still higher. And, just before you drift off into the night, stretch out your arm and take my hand and I will follow you into a night of our dreams.

Love • 181

AROUSAL She’s asleep. Nested in bright white silken sheets that cling so perfectly to her now warm, sensual, form. Arms and shoulders bare, skin luminous. Hair framing her exquisite, delicate, most tender beauty. Those sweet, moist, irresistible lips, my desire to kiss them and caress her an imperative.

182 • Love

My book of love poems open beside her. Which ones did she read tonight? Is she dreaming of me, us, now? I carefully slip under the covers and draw close, inhaling her fragrance. A gentle kiss from my heart as she moves into my arms, smiles, slowly awakes, and draws me to where she wants me to be. Oh, my!

Love • 183

184 • Love

INEVITABLE I can’t quell the depth of my disappointment, the anger. But, I don’t know to whom, or to what, to direct it. I still can’t grasp that it will be, has to be, that I am powerless to alter the finality. Of course, I understand the facts, the absoluteness, the indisputable reality. Acceptance of, expecting, yielding to the inevitable, is what’s sensible. But, how could it really be, that I will cease to exist and not be with you forever?

Love • 185

LAST MOMENTS I’d prefer it to be when I’m holding you close in the night, feeling your tender warmth, sharing times’ memories, whispering words of love. Or maybe when we’re sitting outside holding hands, feeling the cool air of that night’s approach, watching together the glories that dusk brings. Whenever, wherever, are our very last moments together they can only be an inadequate coda for a spectacular, grand, and wondrous symphonic life lived together.

186 • Love

Love • 187

188 • Love

TOGETHER, RISING IN THE WIND I’m beginning to feel time. It’s a swirling wind, continuously increasing in speed, rising forever upwards, higher and higher, toward an end at an unknown moment. We are in tight embrace, drawing ever closer together as more precious moments pass, and as the earth, life, become more distant.

Love • 189

LIKE A PEARL In its creation a beautiful perfect love seems peculiarly similar to how a single grain of sand unknowingly creates, transforms, into a glorious pearl. This grain of sand, as an ‘irritant’, enters the life space, unsettling the natural equilibrium, causing responses that form layer after layer of coatings, gradually evolving into a created perfection. There is no originating intent, it just happens. Just like love.

190 • Love

Love • 191

LIGHT BEHIND She enters. I can see just a bit of her bare creamy white ankle. All motion slows. She approaches. A scent, soft, powdery. She’s wearing all black. Hair up, her neck beckons. Slacks just tight enough to see the outline of her thighs. My hand reaches out for hers.

192 • Love

Warm, soft. Our lips touch. Electric. An embrace. My heart rate quickens A light seems to shine from behind her eyes drawing me even closer. We gently caress, share confirming smiles about what might be next. We don’t let go.

Love • 193

194 • Love

DRAPED IN SILK Like love, some mornings are filled with perfect tranquility and beauty. Just as the surface of an undisturbed mountain lake, draped in white silk, reflecting a morning’s first clouds. Sometimes though, a cooling breeze arises, changing the moment, producing ripple after ripple that seem to topple over the lake’s edge to nowhere. But, with certainty, the breeze ebbs and no memory of it remains. True love, with its undisturbed tranquility and beauty also returns unchanged, as it always does.

Love • 195

THE TELLING (To be read slowly while listening to Claude Debussy’s ‘Claire De Lune’)

Please, come here. To me. Now bend in closer. No, still closer. I’ve something to share, something to tell. Only for you to hear. It’s my whispers, my story, about us, only for us. Because I want you, us, to know, to understand.

196 • Love

I will tell it softly, sweetly, completely, because that’s my memory of it. Telling with the fondest love and remembrance, and the most adoring tenderness. But, please, don’t notice the tears as they roll down my cheek, or the catch in my voice as I choke back the bittersweet sadness caused by the circumstance of the end of my time. I just can’t help it.

Love • 197

REGRET It may happen like this……….. There will be something that suddenly reminds you of me, of us. Something that creates a warm, penetrating, remembrance. It may be a word, a place we’ve been, something I gave you. Maybe it will be a dream or you’ll be thinking of a poem I wrote, something I said. You will feel that I am, so very painfully, just out of your reach.

198 • Love

Missing me much more than even you thought possible. Something for which you were completely unprepared. You may feel a deep penetrating regret, a profound emptiness and sadness. But, please, always know that it was also my regret. That I, above all else, wanted so much more time for us.

Love • 199

A HAPPINESS SECRET Expect and want little for yourself, and as much as possible for your other and all others you care about. This is a simple secret for supreme and enduring happiness.

200 • Love

Love • 201

202 • Love

WHO IS THAT FOOL? Don’t you wonder sometimes? ‘Just who is that fool that is living here inside me?’ How is it that such ridiculous thoughts take root there? How is it that such foolish words are not held back by my lips? Where do such ideas and notions come from anyway? Is it some sort of malicious imp or spirit having fun at my expense? Is it the consequence of bad air or an imbalance of various bodily fluids as the ancients thought? Well, whatever the clearly thoughtless source, please accept my apology for the fool dwelling inside me.

Love • 203

204• Identity

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Dr. Arthur R. Goshin first began writing poetry as he turned sixty. Educated as a physician and in public health, he’s had a successful fifty year career in health care. The first phase of his professional life involved the development of comprehensive health centers in communities of poverty. The next phase involved the founding, development, and leading of a very well recognized, large, not-for-profit health plan serving over a half million members. He currently serves as a board chair, board member, or advisor for a range of organizations, foundations and private entities. As a Clinical Professor, Dr. Goshin has reached his fiftieth year as a global health focused faculty member at the University at Buffalo. As he retired from ‘employed work’(as he puts it), and began writing poetry, he also became the founder/ funder/president/ceo of his own foundation (healthyworldfoundation.org) engaged in numerous health projects in India and Africa. His new website, arthurgoshinbooks.com, includes some of his books of poems and photographs. He splits his living time between Santa Fe and New York City with his wife Renee. They have two sons/daughters-in-law, and three grandchildren.

206• Identity

TABLE OF CONTENTS Musings 2

Nattering On

Pulling Back The Covers

Each Day’s First Gift

Some Days.........

10 Childhood 13 Untethered 14

An Undiscoverable Alien

See The Heavens Fill

Music Of The City

As Night Descends

This Restlessness

As The Day Slips Away

26 Petophilia 31

A Manifest Destiny

208• Identity

Apricots And Fresh Bread

Men Don’t Understand

The Last Glow

Grand Central

Day’s First Choice

Twinkling Lights

Just For Me

Predawn Indigo

48 Waiting 51 Searching 52

An Emptiness

A Lost Battle

56 Silence 59

At The Edge

‘Women, What Is It About Your Feet?’

The Rose Reading Room

A Sweet Beginning

210• Identity

It’s Ok To Do Nothing

Left Behind

What Is Missing?

Encounter Of Another Kind

Endangered Queen

‘Well, How Wonderful Is That!’

Everything Or Nothing?

The Disappearing Child

Love 85

The Morning In Your Eyes

Regardless Of Time

89 Sacrifice 90

Defying Gravity

Lovers’ Manifesto

Love, The Giver

Echoes Ahead In Time

What Is Love?

212• Identity

101

Time Changes Nothing

102

A Shared Vessel

104

As Time Rushes Away

106

Each Kiss

109

My Muse

110

Master Of The Universe

113

Love Matter

114 More 117

A Heart’s Affirmation

118

Love Races Through My Heart

121

What I Need

122

The Call Of The Sirens

125 Cruelty 126

Yes, Please Consume

128

What If I Just.........?

130

On The Wings Of Happiness

133

It Is Desire

214• Identity

134

Dancing On Stars

136

Summer Drifting

139

A Shared Life

140 Intimacy 143

Love Crush

144

Love’s Cloth

147

Your Nearness

148

The Curve Of Your Back

151

Love Needs Time Together

152

The Woman You Have Become

155

Another Stirring

156

At The Very Edge

159

My Morning Flower

160