.

cone 10 blue

each day, the lake adopts
a different colour and today
it is a cone 10 blue. high
winds toss it into white caps
and spray a crystal sky with
bitter chill. snow is coming,
one can 'feel' it (much as
those of us in northern
climes now pray for spring).

but like the season-yet-to-be,
my thoughts are undetermined.
they roll across my day like white
caps on a restless lake. there, then
not, and I am in retreat, in search
of something warmer, lost inside
some inner sanctum.

when he walks, he drops his bottom
lip as if about to speak; he is always
just one warm breath away from
words. his gait is decidedly slow,
head tilted slightly to the right and
up. half smile there, then not.
occasionally, an open hand cradles
his left shoulder; perhaps a former
baseball injury? but today, it is
the clink of weights that concentrates
the silence of a mid-week afternoon
spent at the gym. within this crowded
room, the only eyes I see are his ...
C, the next best thing to G

... almost.

all eyes and breath, his calm against
my storm, as wordless and as rare
as cone 10 blue.

he is in every other thought I own,
in sky and windows, shadows, light,
but best of all, in white capped
waves that toss and spill the
cone-10-blue-sprayed god-spot
in this restless day.