FROM A WANDERVOGEL

If I could see you

softly beside me

indifferent to the dust and chaos

open to the breezes which support

our eyes away from the props

of their neo-simian push button

dreams of civilization

I'd find you golden, tingling

in the cool, living air

and moving Earth and Spring

with a sigh

I would not blink

for fear you'd disappear

If I could touch you

trembling, as my way

would be to gently take

your hand and lead you slowly

with great care

toward my world

noting to discard

whatever you think should be

in someone else's aura

before you know it's me I'm changing

to fit your whim

(because I suddenly found

my universe wanting)

I would not breathe

for fear you'd shatter

If I could show you

innocent and jeweled fragments

of a hard and decaying planet

as flowers, whose infant curiosity

pushes pavement aside

and children we forgot to teach

about war

put Generals out of my mind

where they can do no harm

I would not point

you already see

If I could teach you

something which has no time

while they annihilate our bodies

we could stand and say

how foolish

to think they could harm us

and spend fleeting eternities

sending lights

bounding happy and secret

except to our eyes

to play like tiny fishes

dancing in each other's hair

I would not speak

you already know

If I could have you

as my own

I could watch the sky fall

and men run toward their bitter

and final end

and never take my eyes

away from your smile

and I can see

quietly the fire

that turns the turbines

that move the galaxies

working through you

-©Jim Wellington (1971-ish)