We listened to Dan Hill sing a song thirty-seven years ago, underneath the desert skyline where dead spirits came to glow. A voice in contemplation that led to a rhyme, a memory of Orion, when in words you told truth so. I guess my friend you ventured where the lions do pace and fight, I guess you came looking for what made the words I wrote that night. A level head of something or a heart so full and bright, you touched my arm, I shivered, and we looked into the sky. A friend as soft spoken in your Asia sort of way, you told me about your brother how he died so far away, I couldn’t understand it for the words spun in my head, making motion pictures of the scars of what you said.
A little late to say it after all these many years, but when you leaned to touch me, I shuttered in my tears, for just as Aries moved to sweep a bit of dust away, I learned to love a friend for what she didn’t say. Sometimes in the summertime after all these years, I smell the ghost of desert skies, and think of love so dear, a place of friends who touch and know, that everything’s okay, for secrets that they share are blessings, that life can’t take away. You touch me once, you float away and then your voice comes clear, a better understanding of where I go from here.
We talked for many hours as the sky moved in sashay, arms holding secrets only goodness gives hearts to play, and when the dawn came falling you grabbed me and you said you’ll go away, just like my brother did, when the army came that day. In Asia, we have words that shred the soul in tattered wounds, to tell our love for others, when it can’t be, or it’s too soon. But now let’s touch in silence never kissing, it’s not my way, for we are friends forever with what we do or do not say.
And then we touched, and sometimes…
We listened to Dan Hill sing a song thirty-seven years ago, underneath the desert skyline where dead spirits came to glow. – 07.19.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל