the last before blue

In the early morning hours,
your words fall like drops of snow
against
all of the impossibilities.
Church bells ring across the sea.
Its 2 a.m.
Odd how the hours find the memories of poems
whose
emotions tumble from hesitations.
Words written in a soliloquy cannot deny the heart;
beats skipping in unison
with
the quiet of a grey summer's night.
The key is hidden within the soft Iceland moss where elves dream.
Windchimes
echo their light footsteps upon the waves of the wind
and
our words fall into the simplest of syllables;
nouns,
verbs,
consonants
all forgetting where they began.
The snow still falls,
and
a thought begins to dance with more thoughts;...
convergence;
a geometry lost within the ballet of your words.
Angles merge with cloud and sky.
Time
slows down into dreams within the wind.
I could lose myself in them for hours
watching the sea in your eyes;
blue circles in the sky of your soul.
Your words are all in right angles
trying
to find the word "simple" behind an infinite whisper.
Time
walks backwards through currents of light yet unfolding.
You are silent
while
angels write songs about the metaphysics
of sand currents.
The sky
grows
quiet in the wind
when
love disguised as light approaches.
The world stands still
and lives a life of fractions
cascading different scenarios of humanity into novels.
You are my conversation.
You are a life that is the essence of breathing;
one novel of your life forever falling into mine.