Soft, new-fallen snow,
Pure tablet written on,
Marks of mystic beasts,
For poets see
Chimeras and centaurs
In the passages of
Horses and horned toads,
Taking indentations in
The pure white medium,
Turning them into tales as
Mysterious and convoluted as,
Tracks of rabbits in the snow.
-----
hands two simple things
they touch and magic happens
words become meaningless
-----
stripping silken words
poet slowly reveals her
wearing but a smile
-----
I drift within my thoughts,
Like falling snow, seeking ground,
Chooses to ride the wind a while.
I too, ride that wind listening
To the thousand lewd tales it tells,
In brushes with slender naked limbs
Of black trees swaying seductively on
The moon's silver dance floor.
-----
I know I once was here,
In this familiar place I seek
Someone left behind,
One more time I return,
Hoping, praying she,
Of that ancient history,
Will enter the same dream,
Remembering...
And run to me.
Donovan Baldwin