Kisses

Kisses of morning dew

were at first underneath my consciousness,

such a vast part of

what would be later termed

soul

that they were hardly noticed apart

from anything else at all.

There,

in my father's scent

as he returned from camp;

there,

in the nascent mornings

before light appeared but heat

had begun its magic and

the dust began to settle,

there,

joyously in the mid morning glorious leap

as sunfire drank and warmed damp bones,

there,

in that undefinable moment of afternoon

when the dust

began, of its own accord,

to settle,

there,

present secretly in moonlight's dance overland.

Later when these things became something sacred:

therefore metaphorically abused,

subject to classism and jealousy;

when these things became part of a bewildering fight,

the sacred profaned,

a promise thrown into doubt,

all hope bandied about like innermost feelings

were but a toy

they were there

limpid in the midst of an insanity:
the deepest psychic
the deepest wissenschaft physik

kisses
of morning dew.