This morning I went for a walk and felt infinite love
In the leaves that wavered and the bitumen
That stayed firm under my feet
And a story that flowed from a voice
That spoke of hopes and dreams to be poured out
Of its broken heart.
So that their young soul would become real
In the only way that anything becomes real:
To be loved and cherished, taught and trained
Guarded and wrestled, broken and then finally let go.
And now that voice walks across the room hidden
Inside mysterious hints of quarks and quasars
And the clues to their mother’s love-life
We call eyes and a face, and a body
With arms and legs and hands and feet.
And disappearing behind a wall
Next to a book-shelf that sits like dangling bits
Of galaxy where a piano player toys
With the music of infinite love that flows
Down from the blue sky and into the leaves.
(Peter Volkofsky 13.03.2014)