The Voice of Your Eyes

Blue, bluey, feather in the sky of a passing jay crashing into the clear. Piercing in color and focus. I feel it in my root, red hot and honey warm, expanding like a stone in a still pond. Outwardly radiating til it engulfs the gold circling orb that surrounds my heart and most of my ribs. Shoving energy up my esophagus into my throat. The spikes of electricity shoot though my lobes. Russian opera, boy band ballads, sage fogged sitar chords... I dreamt you into existence, but you have a will of your own, you have the strength that I lack. You keep me safe. You give me pleasure that expands across leagues and leagues of rocky, murky seas home to megafauna with human heads and gnashing teeth. Antartica... so white, so vivid, colors must appear saturated. The hefe... what is it called? The lens? No the,.... um, can’t remember. The filter. YES, the hefe filter on Instagram!  Deep below the layers of snow, of ice, of frozen time... is an ocean... is a memory of a lush green landscape.  Of a sea faring people, Atlanteans?  A type of Atlantis, a people who knew longitude and latitude before we imagined a people could know. Mother shifted her self. God changed his mind. Now they are lost in a prism, but not completely forgotten. In dreams, in writing, in every song they are seeded. Close set, connected to the breathing, to the airing of my brain... a coolant and a heating system that hums like my computer’s fan. Imprinted. Imprinted by two orbs. Connected by something that is invisible, but I can reach out and touch.  The silver rope of all that we have between us is tight. Able to handle our weight and then some. Over the rushing rapids below, that which is unknown and what is to come. Every step is like a strum of a mandolin, a simple tune that tells you everything in this present is good and full and shining and love. When you cry my heart sings. When you show me everything, I am yours and I have always been yours. I was imprinted onto you. You to me. A deep hum, a guttural laugh, a confident, sure held note is what wraps us snug as we gaze ahead and above at all the stars of possibility and the past.  Hmmmmmm... aaaahhhh.... Eyes, the voice of your eyes. I hope our children have your eyes and I hope they have mine and one minute.  One minute left to describe your eyes and its voice and my voice and our dreams. I smoosh my face into yours so that we can become one, the Faithful Couple we saw at Mariposa Grove. That’s you and me. Separate then merged then outreaching.

The Faithful Couple. Yosemite. Taken by me.