Tracing (Autobiographical Poem but Dedicated to Elsie and Bill)

Tracing paths with fingertips

Over familiar turns of you, 

Tiny steps across your heart, 

Now palm to cheek, askew,

Ah, With lashes low, I breath you in.

Reward, a smile, a whispered kiss.

Tracing memories of past promises:

Kept, broken, forgiven, gladly beholden.

Were we sometime vexed?

Vaguely I remember a hint, a whisper,

But it has floated as ash on wind to sea,

Time and cleansing hope with neap

Play a new song for me,

Resounding strong and moving with 

Quiet heart, yet thunderous desire.

Our music, rising, rising, rising,

A harmonied crescendo,

Rolling drums in anxious hope,

A winding below the worried morrow,

And climbing again above the sorrow,

Then softly falling back to earth.

A feathery memory with the hope of us,

Gracious, exquisite bloom

More glorious than the most

Secret hopes.

Time has come

And time again,

Oh, they are truly grand!

And we, with Him, a foundation for them,

Astonishing!

Who knew we were made of diamonds then?

Was coal, but I think you knew the end.

And that you believed and held us in place as the pressure came

And went,

How the diamond's prism glories! 

Crimson love into amber warmth, golden hope, evergreen,

Hope now slowly, slowly becomes regal, eternal, gleams in explosion of what we are

Together.

Tis the diamond which plays the fairest melody or cuts the deepest groove,

And when moved by the Master's hand,

A perfect creation.

Fingertips trace now in repose,

And we know

Without words,

A true union of souls.