knew
of their love.
An ethereal
passion that was
not bound
by time
or geography.
Only the sun
and the rains
could understand it.
In dreams
and verse
they danced
with his
calloused
working man
hands clasping
her silken waist.
They had met
a thousand times
Dublin and Dresden
Mozambique and Marseille
and in rolling hills and deserts.
Always they loved.
She had been
a dancer,
a Queen,
and once
on a tiny
Pacific island,
she was worshipped
as a Goddess.
His lives
mundane
in contrast,
but always he
found her
and always
they laid down
in the clouds
and floated in passion.
Just after a war
in pillaged South
they wandered
dirt roads
and she sang
to him,
he rushed to
show her his
favorite place.
They were
eternally destined,
but only
the moon knew
of their love.
