Back into the warmth
Or did the warmth come from the book
Early on, an easy understanding
Of the many levels of consciousness
Given to me through Jung's interpretation
Of his early 1930's dream
My arm is warm
The thin pullover clings ever so lightly
These are the paths my mind now wanders along
The slightest of touches, the merest of movements
Invoking memories of such a gentle love
A love even more gently imagined
A memory so easily painted
With soft lights and warm colours
A time past, that lives fleetingly as a time present
An energy that reminds me
That the warmth did not come from the book
The warmth came from within, within me
A within that has loved and lost, and loved again
A warmth that reminds me that the loss of love
Is not love lost, but a love that floats
A love that waits to be rediscovered
Whenever the warmth calls by
