Egg shells among the lotus blossoms,
Of a universe not wearing down,
Rather, the lower curve unseen,
All beauty and relationship
Within the ovalness of egg
Ever coming round upon itself,
And we voice diatonic aria,
Chromatic notes that yearn,
Ache pleasantly against the shell;
Where does time hide itself
To return with such vibrant memory,
As if we had never left each other,
We're still sitting at breakfast?

Dale Driscoll
San Diego
27 II 06
For Stephen