summer day

she smells like the golden light
glinting through billows
of a ripe field of wheat

like the dance of the poppies' wings
in the soft hands of the wind
from a sweet childhood memory

like the song of the lark
immersed in cerulean height
filling an unending summer day

like the silvern river of certainty

flowing with evening quietude

to the outskirts of dusk.

(for D.)

dusk

of all hours of the day

mine is the dusk:

the tangerine sinks into quiet

the light fades from the blue

all peaceful slides the day

into the duvet of the night

the moon's round cheek

snuggles against your face.

(for D.)

#192

kindling a fire in the hearth of your fortress
may cast some light through the window
into the dark outside

yet keep your gates shut
the drawbridge raised
and warm yourself inside your mirror walls

i rather prefer the stark light of stars
to a mirage.

☙

(I was always hoping for a connection with you that would go beyond wearing each other in our minds and hearts.)

the flower and the sea

(The dots are actually silver but the camera could not capture them well.)

(for D.)

at final dusk

will the glow

just fade

into the blue of steel

a transparent forsakenness

will the clouds

be drawn

from the window of this world

displaying pathless deserts

of a starless sky

will your moon

just sink into a nameless sea

a leaden heaviness

from which no wavelet can emerge

.
.
.

i search your light

your flower's scent

your meadow's smooth embrace

timeless lavender moon.

(for D.)

...

what could be easy
about letting go

when the sky was in your hands
and my flower
curled around your moon

when the wall you built
seasons ago

(how many days and weeks and hours waiting in vain)
.
.
.

.


.



.




.





...






stayed transparent
to hopes and dreams
to the melody of heartstrings

what could be easy
about letting go . .  .   .    .