Nineteen Eighty-Four Series VI of XX

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beyond an oval pond, the

sun sets peacefully,

wearily it shines between

loathsome pines whose bark lies

stripped away on the ground;

a willow curls around the

corner as if weeping,

its branches dangling just above

the murky waters like teardrops;

beside an oval pond, animals

scurry about in frantic disarray

squirrels, rabbits, and wild dogs

whose lingering sniffing upsets

the robins nesting in the trees

not so high above their heads;
behind an oval pond, a young boy

sits on a felled tree and dreams

about freshly plowed fields and

paths down towards the holler

like seats in an amphitheater

emptied because of the weather.

August 24, 1984

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the fading sun sparkles its last
reflection on the churning water
and we sit with outstretched legs
on the sand, watching its
colors fade out-of-sight;
gusts of wind chill our sunburned bodies
unknown people pass in front of
unspoken thoughts and we
look past them, hypnotized by the
beach's eerie romantic tranquility;
darkened waters announce the sun's
disappearance and the coastline
succumbs to a dark veil of night as
a necklace of pier lights shine on
reflective lines in the distance;
reclining on a sand blanket of emotions,
we steal glances at each other and our
smiles relay our  insecurities that we
surrendered to the last vestiges of the day.

August 20, 1984

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haunted by the fear that your

desire for me was allowed,

I wonder if you can settle

for two and if my jealousies

will discourage doubt as I

have tried lessening the anxiety

our love has caused and the

trust we must display even

though that trust has already

been dismantled from primary

obligations, our love is real;

what we have done to have each other,

will we do again to have another?

have we grown so bold in our claims

that we deny those who care for us?

amazed that we can physically

give to each other that which we

are likely never to experience,

leaves us vulnerable to our

own desires and so the hidden

passion we must find at home.

August 19, 1984

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deeply we inhale the freshness
of the evening rain, listening to
its clatter upon the tin roof,
hearing puddles enlarge on the
ground outside our window;
we touch softly as if to
reacquaint with your body
as it curls around mine
as if it were meant to order;
our backs face the window,
gentle breathing,
our rhythms soothes...
your tenderness surrounds me
like the soft underside of a feline;
your coolness presses against mine
until our silhouettes cast one shadow
and my senses relax with the
murmuring echos of raindrops.

August 17, 1984