They had loved in the Caves of the Morning
in that winter of shortage and strife.
He asked: “Whence fares the wind of our breathing?
Is there a Name to this life?”
And she watched the smoke spiral and wither,
as she bowed to the spark that awoke.
When she’d wrapped up back intoher hides
she gravely spoke:
It is hidden in the shards of the rainbow,
in the haze at the edge of the plain.
There’s a Name in our heartbeat that’s calling
as we dance to the pulse of the rain.
They had loved in the city of Zenith
and, dreamily, holding him tight,
she asked: “Do our Paths form a pattern?
Does God dream of our footsteps at night?”
And he drank in the sounds of the city,
distant cries and the song of a child,
and, shivering, caressing her hair,
he gently smiled:
It is mingled with the trail of a moonbeam,
and the thunder at the rim of the sea,
there are patterns glimpsed in dream, song and mirror
but our Path there is all that we’ll be.
We had loved in the domed halls of Umbra,
and Io shone bright in the sky.
You gazed at the beauty around us,
wonderingly whispering: “Why?”
And our life support sang like the ocean,
and space was the cave overhead,
and I felt the chill brush of the eons
as I said:
It is written in the rays of the nova,
and the dust from the distance untold.
There are answers too vast to have meaning.
There are reasons too small to behold.
Always up and around and within us,
just beyond and far too far and so close.
Why there’s rainbows and stardust and thunder no one knows –
yet while there’s rainbows and stardust and thunder
there’s the Question we lovers will pose.