A Tender, Growing Child

I walked though mountains, down deep valleys,

With flowers and colors of sunset,

But you were not there, my Love.

I walked the edges of foaming mountains of sea,

The pulse and pound of them in my ears, my feet,

But you were not there either,

Or under tall trees or beside the running stream

And I knew you would not be, but I had to look with my eyes.

In my dreams you were walking there, laughing,

The sun on your back in the pound of waves,

Sea foam curling around your feet like creamy, white smoke.

You were walking in the narrow valley of flower,

The smell of them on you, trying each one in your hair.

The shadows played about you like old friends.

I picked the ripe fruit on the mountainside,

But the pink taste of you was not in them.

My feet keep wanting to take me to the places I will find you,

Through empty crowds and crowded empty places.

I keep thinking to find you there on a blanket in the sunshine

Or in the market with your basket.

I want to place my arms about your middle,

Startle you with my hands, my lips.

I want to drink the wine of you in the afternoon light,

Drink the sweet, red wine of you until our lips are red,

Fill the cup and drink every drop of you.

I want to do to you what the bee does to the honeysuckle,

What the breaking wave does upon the shore.

I want the electric feel of you pulsing through me,

Liquid fire coursing in the veins of my flesh.

The pound of summer rain upon the meadows,

Hard, relentless, yet warm, wet and gentle.

I want to eat the ripe fruit of you

Until our souls embrace and the stars turn about.

I want to kiss you soft as rain, as soft

As the tender green shoot touching the sky.

I want to lie with you, breath you deep,

And lay my dreams down to sleep with yours.

Soon I will not keep my feet from finding you;

Soon the mountains and snows and seas

Will pass behind me as a memory, fading.

Soon no power or place or thing will stand between.

Our dreams will lie down together in the morning

And rise up in the evening, a tender, growing child,

Born upon the sweet grass, born upon the waters,

Born upon the clouds of rain and lightning,

Born through distance and darkness and fire,

Born at just the right moment and place and time.

Eric M. Petit