In all the simple daily things

In all the simple daily things there’s an unwritten code
a coffee and a kiss       and a few words of silence
as the sun rises and you slowly adjust your serene
and angelic soul
                         to the circumstances around you
You look at me and for a moment        I’m your bauble
your creation in which you see    as in a mirror
the burnished reflection of your love
                                                  It’s 7 a.m.
and it seems as though the world’s clockwork
mechanism has yet to be restarted          How strange
just to lie there side by side looking into your
beautiful eyes with       for a moment       no notion of time
or duty or agenda or any urgent obligation      other
than to be there for each other and nothing more
knowing that there is no knowledge
                                               greater than love

John Lyons

Midnight memory – another sonnet

A child might ask “Does the sky ever run out of rain
and if so, where does it go to get more?”      and I think
does time ever run out of time       and how might that
happen, and if it did, what then?
                                              Streaks of sunlight
on the lawn and people are charring their summer meats
over hot coals and the dog is chewing at an old bone
and somewhere a speaker is churning out the popular
hymns of all our yesterdays          and Jack in the house
that he built thinks of the cow with the crumpled horn
and how strange
                    it is for you to be gone and simply be nowhere
like a never-ending silence          that descends upon the planet
and he tries to recall the features of your face       the sad eyes
the hair      the shape of your mouth but the dust is creeping in
deep piles of it heaped around
                                              your faithless midnight memory

John Lyons