In the movement of the waters
in the shaking of a kiss
in the silent prayer preceded
a most feared and reverent wish
to the Maker
of our love known now
in revolving states of bliss…
Turn I to that memory
evolved-now unto this
And I praise the then-beginning
and I praise the rocky road
and I praise the heights ascended
and the baggage that has slowed
us to a shuffle
though we really used to go...
Lover, look not to the pillow.
Lover, look not to the pillow.
Lover, look not to the pillow
or the shuffling of your feet,
like some traveler too wearied
by the movements on the street
amidst the wonder of creation
also spoken by a word
Lover, speak to me, me, me
Lover, lift your head and see me
And look not to the pillow.