Fading Away Little by Little


A Quiet Distance

There are quiet features
In my letter box
Journals that went unopened
Hearts that went ungiven-away

It was celibacy all around
In my soul, that waited for years
To write the perfect sentence
The ideal stanza


The deviation from without
To satisfy the necessity of within
Talking in bed to the poems
That defined a lifetime

There is emblematic unrest
Vulnerable to horizons
Autobiographies burned
In isolation, nothing shows why


In all this distance reduced at night
We prune our youth with gratitude
For how things turned out
Eventually, the night takes us

Outside of symbol into ambiguity
A distance between
Ourselves and the racing stars.

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In no shape for Time


Outside of Time

I am always and ever
At any given point
Aware of the space between us
How we all follow some destined path
Gold, silver, green, purple
Fates, I call them ribbons

The signatures of light
We leave in the hearts of other people
When we are gone
They can approximate
How close we came to them
Inwardly, all symbolic


With bodies as translucent
As the future will afford us
I am always and ever
Taking off clothes, memories
Assumptions, judgement
To reach the stillness between us

Where I wait for you dear
If you are lonely
You can always find me
Anticipating mind-touch
And the rain together like
The fragrance of forgiveness.

Dreams of Water


The Holy Well

Sunbathing on hope
Empty of acting
I came upon skywashed seas
And an older me
Ankle deep in water
Faces hanging over
The cliff of tomorrow
Trying to see their
Reflection in storms
Salt-clear distances
Opal faith lifting
Us up out of thunder
Marked footprints
Of God carrying us
Two bodies, two feed
With bright light surrender
Our limbs turned west
Leaning into the
Hips of waves
Legends merged in us
Legions moved in us
Until we visited
Constellations as promised
Long ago, halos of thirty blues.

Spring Perfume Fragrance


Spring Perfume Fragrance

Winter Haiku became Spring Haiku
Dragons turned into Humming Birds
That’s how it went

I long for the Nameless
Like philosophy before poetry
And poetry after philosophy

Society is unlike art, it only
Begs to change, but never truly
Manages to transform itself

Art is abrupt, like a glowing trend
As futuristic as religion is tied
To the past, dogmatically traditional

Cities that have no art are barren
They speak of love that comes to mind
The artists wake the world gone wild
Which ushers in a ballad of gold.

Morning of Music


Morning of Music

I tread on goblets of the dawn
With music two hundred years old
Chopin, Liszt, Schumann
We were all composers and critics
No, we lived for performance

For the gratitude of grass, earth and sky
For the pursuit of the
Impossible, and how silence
Drags twilight to the core
That’s beauty, distant and pure
The milky way where we live
Yearning always for something more
Moring is splendid
Like a woman at twenty

She doesn’t know how beautiful she is
Until four o’clock on a Saturday
I tread on stars blown to dust
With civilizations gone extinct
Everything truly is temporary.

Spring is Coming


Earthly Interference

The mind is an unforgettable red place
For dictions of Spring
For the rigid dreams of youth

That comes to fruition
Years after, with great sacrifice
I am to loving art as

The sky is to the rain
I carry it in my heart
But it only runs through me

In a downpour of my festive passion
In cycles of my famine and desert
The mind is an unforgettable red place
For faces I collected along the way

For intimacy never truly won
Only intimations of what might have been
This flickering hood of flame
Reads for the shootout to theory and practice
All that stood between us…