Cornucopia
For Yvonne Rose
Hands only touching through the blisters of time,
how can we stand and watch the flowers dying?
My heart pounds wildly toward a day wet and naked
standing in the field of togetherness.
At peace with the mellowing song of two hearts,
at home, at rest, beating together.
Asleep by the side of a friend,
who I have waited for forever.
A place I'd like to spend my time before I have to go.
In a garden of weeds where the sun won't shine,
how can we leave the flowers behind?
P. J. Campise
