Very romantic without being sentimental. And no pathetic fallacy or
statements of philosophy. Well done!
Gift
These things can look after themselves.
The early summer apples hang tight
and hard, or lie in the dew-soaked
grass in the shade below the trunks.
I look far beyond them to where
a night-dark sea rises and falls
with a compelling rhythm.
The same rhythm that under-
pins Brahms´ fourth symphony.
`Er lebte wie ein richtiger Künstler,´
you told me once. I see you, too.
The sky is as black as your hair.
The blind casts moonlight stripes
across my back in the same way
that the wind carries night scents.
These things need me to look after them.
You move under a palm. Your silhouette
crosses the moon-path on the water.
You bring me this vivid bloom,
this gift of a luscious fruit with a waxy rind.
Mike
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