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This beautiful poem was originally posted by Teo for my wedding.

A Wish

I lie on the ground,

and stare into space,

the stars start to move,

into the shape of your face.

I see you there now,

looking down at me,

with that cute little smile,

that I like to see.

You say "close your eyes",

"tell me what you see",

I see only two people,

just you and me.

We're walking the shoreline,

with our feet getting wet,

the horizon turns pink,

as the sun starts to set.

We make love through the night,

on that white sandy shore,

then I hold you while thinking,

I could want nothing more.

Oh I wish I could be,

in that one special place,

as I lie on the ground,

and I stare into space...

- Randy Schutte -

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Thank you for this post dear Vicky,
and thank you Margherita for the beautiful image.

Love At First Sight
by Wislawa Szymborska

They're both convinced
that a sudden passion joined them.
Such certainty is beautiful,
but uncertainty is more beautiful still.

Since they'd never met before, they're sure
that there'd be nothing between them.
But what's the word from the streets,
staircases, hallways-
perhaps they've passed by each other a
million times?

I want to ask them
if they don't remember-
a moment face to face
in some revolving door?
perhaps a "sorry" muttered in a crowd?
a curt "wrong number" caught in the receiver?-
but I know the answer.
No, they don't remember.

They'd be amazed to hear
that Chance has been toying with them
now for years.

Not quite ready yet
to become their Destiny,
it pushed them close, drove them apart,
it barred their path,
stifling a laugh,
and then leaped aside.

There were signs and signals,
even if they couldn't read them yet.
Perhaps, three years ago
or just last Tuesday
a certain leaf fluttered
from one shoulder to another?
Something was dropped and then picked up.
Who knows, maybe the ball that vanished
into childhood's thicket?

There were doorknobs and doorbells
where one touch had covered another
Suitcases, checked and standing side by side.
One night, perhaps, the same dream,
grown hazy by morning.

Every beginning
is only a sequel, after all,
and the book of events
is always open halfway through.


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