love’s disregard

you and I
have dashed
the choreography
of our hands
upon shoals of want,
trading form
for unrestraint
disregarding ties
not made for joy

you and I
have stoked
the warmth of suns
burning long past
the hour of setting
blatantly unheeding
the charges of heaven
and other decrees
not meant for delight

you and I
have created
cliffs of rapture
and leapt beyond,
defying the precipice
in joyous disregard
for gravity
and other laws
not made for love

© Sarah Whiteley

adrift

wayfarer without alignment
no direction is misdirection
one foot before the other
again, again, again
simply for the sake
of pacing out the years
no sky-map of constellations
for starry guidance
nor compass for pointing
toward your worth

wanderer without purpose
no reason is unreason
one mile after the other
one more, one more, one more
if only for the action
of moving forward to forget
no sea-worthy sextant
for marking the longitudes
nor chart for scribing
your passage

I wish for you a worthy rest
and dreams that recall
(tears subtracted)
we loved, we loved, we loved
my ship has marked another
brighter horizon as home
with heartfelt farewell
I leave to you your freedom
and your memories
of our days beside the sea

© Sarah Whiteley

maestro

oh maestro,
your hands have pulled
sinew-song
the soft keening,
joyful weeping
of heart-strings
set a-shiver

oh maestro,
your deft fingers
define the measures
the rounding rhythms
of symphonic hips
where clefs are met
slow strains unwinding

oh maestro,
the lyric tempo
of your melodic lips
forgives my
frantic dissonance
in this
our unfinished symphony

© Sarah Whiteley

stars

do you like to look at stars?
I say I can’t see them,
here in the city -
we’ve so diluted the nights
with our fabricated lights
it’s become impossible
to follow the arc
of Orion’s charge
across the sky

it’s clear tonight – I see thousands
it’s clear here, too,
and somewhere -
high above the sodium haze
I might see the shy winking
of the strongest of stars
through the bubble
of the non-night
a city wraps us in

I love looking at the stars
I do, too, I say
and am sad -
missing that crick
in the back of my neck
that comes with gazing
too long, too far upwards
and wishing I were there
where you are
looking up at your stars

© Sarah Whiteley

bruised

just west
of this heart -
pulsing,
longing,
surging -
and north
of the crest
of this breast -
quavery,
quivery,
yearning -
lies the softly
yellowing,
slowly fading
mark of you -
left by
passion-pressed
fingers -
forgetful
in the heat,
unmindful
in the sweet beat
of our fusing -
pay no mind,
love,
of the bruises
our dance leaves -
I’d wear them
-there-
bear them
-here-
forever
and seeing them,
-gasp-
and delight
in recalling
the things
your fingers
do to me

© Sarah Whiteley