it is the returning

as to a lover/comfortable embrace
between the covers /whether hard bound or soft whisper
a certain line lingers like perfume/under the border guards
slips past fast sans Passport/lodges within skin
and will not be displaced by anyone or anything.
"Aye-to love! There's the rub!"For a word to the wise
for foolish followers might dissuade lemmings or dinosaurs
to volunteer extinction .Endings are not beginnings.
I visit Pound and Larkin with respect but idleness.
Bible and Shakespeare cerebral pleasures but not love
I seek those pools that fill rooms of emotion as well as thought
engaging attention with a twist of dream-extending eyes into the unseen.
Mist or mysticism?Japanese Buddhism,Chinese Confucianism find forms
I drink them.Frog.Water.Moon.All live!Ponds of attention captured
Imagists succinct precision i admire.Still life Olds/Oliver.
I have sat in Wordsworth's chair and tried to walk his world
I pilgrimaged to Yeat's Tower in Connemarra.Failed.
Return must mean more than a line or two hooked fish
More than moose,bat,kangaroo,snake,inventory.I go back to hear again what i miss-
the spark of vision formed in perfect pearldrops.Singing Sirens ,eternal seas