my love appeared magically
from a of heap plucked daisies
and star brights
astride the whitewish stallion
my oh Danny boy penned
and Keatsy sonnets
that fluttered down
like broken feathers
my toes sank in sand that
his never touched and he
and dissolved into twilight
who deemed the rider
Danny Smith...my First Love. Sixth grade. We went steady. "Steady" was the only place that we went as I only saw him once or twice (and that was in church) but still I wore his bracelet...but only to school because my mother never would have approved of me "going" with a boy at that age. He didn't even give me the bracelet himself and our only correspondance was the letters that his cousin would deliver back and forth between us. I never held his hand. And,except for those pretend kisses (when I would kiss myself on the back of my hand, imagining it was him), he never even kissed me. It was perfect. It wasn't real love so it could be perfect.
Photo info: The photograph was taken in Ireland a few years ago. We had stopped on this desolate beach and I had ventured into the icy waters and was headed back to the car. I stopped to photograph some seaweed on rocks when seemingly out of nowhere this rider appeared on horseback. I was so taken by the beauty of the moment that I almost forgot entirely about my camera. I took just this one shot and watched them ride off out of my sight. It was like being in a dream...or a beer commercial.
And now, some real Keats about "real" love...
Bright Star, Would I Were Steadfast as Thou Art - John Keats
Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.