the 3rd i

it was a time before television
or radio was perfected
when poetry was important
the words and phrases dissected
and contemplated,
simply stated
like the dandelion seed
without a philosophical creed
released into the air
and blown everywhere
into currents swiftly rode
nothing showed
no signs or spiritual pointers
no businessman loiters
on this trail,
without fail
the wooden bridge spans
this clear creek where we hold hands
and kiss; a heavenly angel
with wings beating our hearts.
is this how it starts
i wonder, torn asunder with wildness
and scents of bliss
it's you i miss.