The Shuffle

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.