To See Your Eyes Afire

To See Your Eyes Afire

(“If your whole body is full of light, and no part of it dark, it will be just as full of light as when a lamp shines its light on you.” Luke 11:36)

All I’m asking is enough air in my lungs to sing.
All I need is to swim like the dolphins swim.
All I want is for you to see me again in
the light.
All I hope for is to dance with slippery feet in the rain.

The stellar jays do not judge me,
they have not asked me my name.
The yearling does in the field only walk away
because they have not made my acquaintance.
The neighborhood dogs bark hello and beg me
to play.
The one friend so close I can taste it,
is so far away we may never see each other again.

All I’m asking is enough time to play more jazz.
All I need is to run into you downtown and see your
eyes afire like afternoon laughter.
All I want is a cookout where old men wear aprons,
women carry potato salad,
children run in gunny sacks,
and no one cares how long we stay.
All I hope is for a bonfire in the breeze that
sends the smoke in every direction.

Yesterday I thought of you,
I jotted down your name.
Your children have children now,
mine live close and far away.
People hold doors for us entering restaurants;
a kind gesture, I know, but it is our grey hair that
incites them to do it.

All I’m asking is enough sun on my skin to swim.
All I need is to sing silly harmonies again.
All I want is for my feet to dance lightly today.
All I hope for is to answer the phone and hear you
pronounce my name.