Ordinary Time

This pristine day
blunders along
unaware of the brilliant luster
more ordinary than most.

In this time where melancholy is my neighbor
I cannot ask to borrow any sweetness
for there is no paying back
this set of honest hours.

I am stupified by how crowded love can be in summer
and how fast the sun moves across the skies
and the darkness of the other side of the moons.

Put your hand gently
at the curve of my low back
if you dare
and take my hand
so that you might guide me
into the steps
of another dance
where we are
belly to belly
looking into the eyes we know
reflect the unconditional truth.

My mind is askew in these unfamiliar moves,
but my heart knows the way
like the cows
to the smell of golden fresh straw
and the quiet of the barn
at deep dusk of fireflies
in July.