Salt Spring Space

Moments spent contemplating the Spirit of Haida Gwaii
with glass Wave wall behind water pouring crashing over
and silence
not there
she wasn't

and then the voice...

I missed my plane.
I'm in San Jose looking for somewhere to get my nails done.
And then back and forth like the eddying of waves
together tonight. Not together tonight.

Bus rides in the rain with Chinese grocery bag battering ram women
Ferry rides in ocean air to cleanse my soul and bring back childhood
memories
of log shelters on English Bay. A lonely quiet ferry terminal... We don't
connect from here.

And again her voice

Will I make the ferry? Or shall I spend
the night alone. Passing lonely moments comforted by voices
talking about our days and longing to be with each other.
Another ride of rictus on the ferry boat. 600 cars
and me alone.

This time careful descriptions because of our fear of not
meeting again, the Bermuda Triangle thing I think.

We didn't need them. I burst into a run as I saw her frantically
waving, dropping bags and holding her for the
very
first time.

And I knew we fit together. Inhaling her hair smell. Her driving flying all
day smell
and watching as we left together her petting two doggies "they are lovely."
Even in the midst of me and my pounding heart, no sleep for forty eight
hours
she had time for the two puppies and their owner.

My first exposure to her and people

Straight up the road.

Good thing she is a woman and not afraid to ask directions.
Good thing she isn't afraid to cross the lit yellow line.
Good thing she has found a hotel name.
Good thing she loves poetry
and can't wait to read to me.

Soft warm hard body
as she scoots close to read to me.
And my hand floats onto her shoulder
and then lifts the cover
saying come inside my skin.

Shyly giggling like a school girl she comes
Wildly screaming like a banshee she comes.

And together we fall asleep knowing
that our adventure is only just beginning

I keep remembering little things that put together an entire week.

Rising that first morning humming and whistling and singing
Leaning out of the shower looking for a pencil and paper.
Write.

Whiskered

Long slow smile as I think about where those whiskers have been
this long night. Souls healed or wounds deepened.

And the long slow can you answer a hard question loving morning
conversation. I didn't. Soft smile I did. When I hugged you in the
terminal.

And then standing by the long window contemplating
the enormity of what I had done... seeing the eagle
soaring free. Totem not my totem. But a sign to
me that I was freeing my soul.

Breakfast in wild moments. I'll get breakfast while you shower
crusty croissants and grapefruit juice and strong black coffee.
And then writing while she showered

the last time for a week
as it turned out that the words would pound so against my head that
I had to release them.

And then we were off
awkward moments around the bill and around all
the things that I love tinkling fountain strange juxtaposition
of Scotch pine and California rhododendron by a waterfall
on rain slicked pavement.

Her competence how did she manage to drive so well and handle all these
things
and I am overwhelmed by moments of uncertainty
worldly or not worldly. Knowing so much longing and lusting
that lies in a hand touch. New lovers.

Lost in a ferry terminal. Line 35 but this is 45 and between us lies a long
low building
I can't go against the traffic. Finally parked and I breath a sigh of
relief
that we are on our way and the boat has not left without us. In fact
I have another steaming hot coffee in my hands well
one hand the other is twined with hers.

Riding across the water reading poetry and marvelling in being together
rippling waves are we there so soon. First stop. Mountain gazing and green
watching knowing that we are only going to be amazed when we have the
moments of
coming together again. Looking for space to breathe.

End of the line last stop and off we roll into an island home that
will dazzle us with its beauty and its charm.

I still regret that we did not see the press the long tedious work of
setting
type by hand and then finding the perfect paper and knowing that
here was the work of a craftsman. A transplanted Dutchman to be sure Irish
English Scottish, rubbish too.

long moments as we listen to Roethke the gardener as roses are pruned and
trained into
growth.

Walking on the beach I watch you bounce onto the upcurved cedar as
we try to understand how long the tree has been there. Why it grows
on Beddis Beach. It's easy to run to hide and to look up at the stars dark
in the sky
watching the first twinkles and then they come out so fast we can't keep
up.

Disappearing sun. With each waking moment spent gazing and silence and yet
deep touch. So tired and the first night at Moby's the jazz was
exquisite I tried to tell the story but it came out jumbled. And the
comment
about needing space almost left my bed empty that night.

I listened to the story and then curled against her warm body thinking of
Indian
boys drawn to great bright lights. And the moose metaphor.
And then I had to move it to me. I knew I was going through a change, I was
seeing things differently. I wanted her here in my arms. Are there answers
here?

The world trembles slightly and shifts like a camera coming into focus
sharply
and suddenly years of not sure become certainty. I have found one who
lifts me
beyond childish ways of looking.

And as the old brass bed takes flight in lovers song
the ceiling walker knows ecstasy breaking into a million fine pieces.
Warm under the sheep skin rug fitting like a glove
into moments of rapture.

Apple avocado sandwiches made on chipmunk bread
ginger and cinnamon
Campazola cheese
no white bread for us
and laundry adventures

meeting a friend of an old friend brings back a
flood of memories of death and the shortness of life.
Tears flow as I recount the strength of the moose hunter
with broken back and heart that would not stop.

Sitting in a treehouse café. Suddenly understanding with
terrible clarity the shortness of life.
Carpe diem.

Juggling plans and tired bodies stay or go on.

Siedo En
Japanese garden at the end of the road lifts it's slow
head in the fading twilight. The mule deer caught in our gaze
black tails waving slowly
is that part of the greeting or is it something new
glimpses of five red carnation buds on the bridge in the arms of old moss
green Buddha, the orange lily blooms.

Hidden lofts and door mechanisms from ancient times
Giggles of laughter as we discover Kama Sutra by the bed
with other erotica turn to howls as we realize there is little that we have
not tried in our two days together.

Groceries and wine soon put us on the way to wonderful
wraps filled with cream cheese and lettuce and sliced ham
and tomato, Indian rice eaten with our fingers and then
abandoned as we race in cotton kimonos for the swirl of dark
hot tub.

Gazing up we know these are our stars. And falling in delight
the next morning when we realize that they were Saturn
and Jupiter. Lady of the rings and her man of war. Satyr
and his Wood Nymph.
Hot water cascading in long slow moments
loofa sponge and burlap cloth
soap bubbles. And hours cavorting under the warm spray and then cold
to close the pores. And this is declared love that I
write this morning... no comment till I finish

these are words fo warning words of change
so deep and profound that you think come from this place
place of old and new place of odd geometry and symmetries
that we cannot see only sense and feel deeply.

And this night another bowl of mussels steeped
in tomatoes and steak sandwich juice
and a giggle as you find the pool table
leading me to my fear and holding my hand through it
strange moments... I warned you that I don't hustle well

and then darts were we just on more equal ground?
Gentle flirting and dark beer envy of the folks around
and have I mentioned your driving
so smoothly no great racing of engines but
fast and sure.

And have I mentioned that I love you.