I cannot contain this ocean of yearning
or carry the weight of ten million stars
through the night of our aloneness any more.
I know there is a garden where we
still walk together, hand in hand.
We drift like golden leaves,
you rest your head on my shoulder.
Speaking like a village child, you share
the gifts of time, the memories of love
like garnets and tourmaline
passed through your mother's wound.
Now you must go, the turning earth
already bears you away like evening.
The breeze lifts us gently, whirling
our yesterdays and tomorrows.
We never leave here, not really.
This is the garden of the Master's heart.
And when we seal the Master's kiss
on the lips of any passing stranger,
a breath, a smile, we are still here, still here,
the ocean our yearning just a tear.