Sometimes, in days past and in mornings wake
among busy droplets of lavender
and burning skies of dawns glorious lake,
She saw tiny glimpses of him, right there.
Two souls peaked and primed, watching from afar,
tentacles of the unseen, leaving trails
of speckled kisses beneath wakeful stars
weaved in the essence of man’s mindful tales.
Simple eyes see with blind platonic thought
beyond aesthetics, raw, unearthed beauty
the soft whispers of what a soul has sought
light within the pits of reality.
Perhaps souls, eachother had always known,
not seeing the physical, they saw home.
Karen Hayward ©2018
Image and words