vendredi, décembre 16, 2011
Feed me with shared sunrises, silent before the twice a day magic of its rising and sinking.
With feta and olives at night after a day spent paring slowly the lists that fill our days.
A hand held out after a hike over rugged terrain, until at last we arrive at the peak, speechless.
The sparkle of a heated debate on politics and art and even sometimes religion, done without bitterness.
Feed me with tenderness.
Knowing the places where I limp, you will not trip me up, but place your hand there for a moment, gentle as the kiss of a spring breeze.
I will do the same for you.
We will be merciful to one another, small irritants serving only to polish our edges like exotic marble.
Our arms at night a haven -- and a carnival ride.
Feed me with the truth.
In lofty phrases when we engage in the disputes that beguile and seduce our straying minds.
In self-mockery and sweet admonition that causes me to burst out in surprised laughter.
A vision that stretches, searches and complements my own sometimes skeptical one.
You, another traveler met fortuitously on the road. Me, a dusty pilgrim, lifting my near-sighted eyes to see with you, and through yours, alone and together as we tread the rocky, gorgeous byways.