Dwight Stevers: Poetry

	Poetry
	Dwight Stevers

My Centaur
- for Paul
The flame of your soul burns a well-lit path (one I travel daily) – familiar in its essence, my home The wings that lift us in dreams are soft pillows cradling our boyhoods (giving rise to manhoods) – lighthearted and noble, a journey. The arrows of passion draw me outward (cauterizing my doubt) – lifting me into your trust, our connection. The movement within each moment is a song (always in my mind) – ever-mutable within the fixedness, our comfort. The healing of our time together is magic (my heart is joyful) – traveling ever homeward, our love.

My Centaur

- for Paul

The flame of your soul burns a well-lit path
(one I travel daily) –
familiar in its essence, my home
The wings that lift us in dreams are soft pillows
cradling our boyhoods
(giving rise to manhoods) –
lighthearted and noble, a journey.
The arrows of passion draw me outward
(cauterizing my doubt) –
lifting me into your trust, our connection.
The movement within each moment is a song
(always in my mind) –
ever-mutable within the fixedness, our comfort.
The healing of our time together is magic
(my heart is joyful) –
traveling ever homeward, our love.

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