The night's blue bottle walls
Are just the right kind of stillness.
I can feel quasars, see quarks.
You appear with that sort of subtlety.
How odd, as usual, that nothing is
Quite familiar, your panther presence
Suddenly a bear hug
Receding quietly
In trails of inky smoke…

The blinds, horizontally,
Are aligned with that vapor
Scudding against Luna
But leaving her still whole.
So am I whole
Even while strewing my reaches
Through orchids & tide.

Odes are this natural,
Though not especially to us:
Evasion your pulse panting after my own.

About the Poet

Stephen Mead is a published artist, writer, and maker of short collage films living in NY. His most recent release of poetry and art is entitled "Our Book of Common Faith", an exploration of world cultures and religions in a search for what creates bonds instead of division.