Furtive by the hour upon a moon in meadow
doth she come to range upon Cypress Hillock.
Lady Lone in a lime kissed mist,
missed by the fated twist of mate,
and privy non shall be but I,
to the lithic lined lore her wisdom did etch,
and from an ambrosial love did pour.

In reference, did I joust a jolly placate of honour
whence did the apparition by the autumn fall.
And goethian was I in steps of wry,
to stand beside her on Cypress Hillock.
A place that verged on Venus of mythos,
that sweated from our spongy pores, prae nomen.
From the very residence of our hearts,
the very resonance of our sorrowed imparts,
did we betroth our spirits fair,
unto each of the passing stars.

Within an honour bound by the blessed bonds of trust
we would collude to break the universal mirror,
that one that kept the earth from sky,
to impregnate our ethered dilemma
with the seed of storied sights,
the trance of poetical flights,
and an offspring as novella.

Fragile as a rainbow that hath no ground to root,
the elementals of life's fortitude did bestow upon her.
I became prithee to her silent chants, sought her dance,
and became the slave to trance.
Perchance enchants, fresh whispers on archaic minds,
wary on the worry of her absent shadow, at times,
whenst did it stray from the Homeric hollow,
    that was where stood, our haunt of Cypress Hillock.

In the nights of storming cloudless pitch,
when the drifting soft waters would heavy hand a hurt,
I would shelter 'neath a leafy log, and knowing she too
was in wake in wait beneath some same sheltered sail.
I did find myself not so alone, as to be delicately embraced,
    a sadness to face, and yet knowing the steam
of our pressured pains, were to meet in mingle in some
safe and keepsaked place.

I still see her now, when from the road she doth rest,
to weary her heart to my breast, and two tender tears
to the baptism are blessed.
Lady, not so lone but loved,
in and out of time and place,
but always can the moments endure,
when to their vantage they do stand as one,
upon Cypress Hillock.

©1998 Chris Oakes


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