New Year's Poem

Years later they will find us sitting together 

I will sit across from you and talk about the weather 

You will watch me in silence and reflect my smile in your eyes 

While cupping a golden sunbeam you caught in the summer skies 

I don’t care if someone finds the Christmas rose petals by the window

Or glimpses the champagne wishes we collected in the twilight shadow

The confetti scattered across the floor in the rose-gray dawn of yesterday

Or the list of last year’s dreams I stored somewhere far away 

I just want to sit and watch how the sun rises and sets 

I want to look at this world and go on my way without regrets

And see you catch the summer breeze in starlight wonder 

Or awaken the butterfly soul after its elegant slumber 

I want to wait for nothing and bless everything 

And fly on wings without expecting anything 

I want to give you my soul on outstretched hands

And glimpse its first flight with you across the highlands

I don’t care if everyone forgets us or ignores our dandelion-fantasies

Sometimes I get tired of losing myself in jungles of my own abnormalities

I simply want to share my silence with you and hear it ring  

I want to disappear in the evening breeze and wait for your soul to sing 

Years later none of this would matter — my longing and my disheveled worries 

I know that in the end we will meet again to tell each other age-old stories

I will sit beside you and make wishes on the faded rose petals scattered at our feet

Afterwards in wonder I will listen to the wind play sun-burned notes in early July heat 

I will feel the breeze and taste the mixture of warm white sands and summer twilight

And watch the quiver of the butterfly soul in its first attempt to dip in crystal starlight 

I will give you everything and not ask for anything and bless the long winding road ahead

I will delight in innocent laughter and hover on wings of silver overhead

Together we will catch dandelion blossoms and rest in fields of yellow flowers 

We will disappear in cotton clouds and blend with the vernal symphony of April showers

And years from now my soul will still be waiting to hear the snow-white rustle of your wing

And in the rose-gray stillness I would sit and listen to the receding echo of the harp’s string