Without My Any Memory
J
James McLain
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Even after Love.
When you are sleeping
I have often come again.
Lips open
kissing stings the bee.
And being John,
I must not love you here.
Young or old no longer
I can see their faces.
Gardens I have kept you divide.
Wells that still now whisper,
grieving you have kept
Growing yellow abba (father)
overhead the pulling moon.
Do we lie to whom,
this bed none made above the star.
Each cloud I long to part.
Because each day.
Open souls,
and like wise minds.
Where one love himself
with her came back again.
To dream the dream we dream.
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