In winter I lie beside hills 
of banked poetry, making angels, 
still and cold.
The upsurge of sensual verse 
and an endless love 
follow me from Sausalito
	to the San Francisco bay.

	Everywhere I go, 
I am the city's lover. 
I celebrate and rush towards 
her shores with an awkward motion, 
each gust
an unspoken longing, 
lingering,
	a stirring within.

	The seasons begin to blur 
and carry with them the scent 
of Sonoma wine 
that circles high above 
the skyline.

I remain alive in the city,
the sound of the ocean at dawn 
captures me---
with the softness of a tear 
	that idles beneath my lid.

And I will write each chapter 
of my life beside her
as grapes bend over
the mountains, 
	fading into a falling sun.

My spirit will rise
above the sea~
There will be no drowning
of my soul or me~

Buonissimo! Magnifico!

Benvenuto a passions.  

this is a

"we all have wings, but some of us don't know why"

Michael Hutchence (INXS)

Excellent write..and welcome!!
~Smiles & Hugs, Nancy~

For it was not into my ear you whispered
But into my heart
It was not my lips you kissed
But my soul

"too bad ignorance isn't painful"
~Unknown~