By Night, I Love language


72

In Night travel I go back to verse
The poesy behind sleep
at the root of subconscious origins
the purest motion of evolution
some constancy of sharing

That beats in my chest
when I was just a fish –
In Night travel I go back to the word
The poesy behind rapture
at the root of superconscient bliss
with starry questions as a single key

To sunlight infinity, there I will beg
The one voice to spread through
all creatures until I feel her eyes

staring back at me from all sides
that sleep might answer, all the sky’s
lovely shadows and queries:
By Night I travel back to the dawn.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/night-165133165

Magnetic transience of our blooms


70

If your eyes were not the
color of lightning, of a day full
of loving hope, this world of
faces, work, play, politics

If you were not the chief grace
of my little years, amber weeks
golden months, clogged with
moments of clasping anticipation

I would have gone mad long ago –
If, my dearest, you had not come
into my life like sand, trees, rain
everything is so alive that is to

live with you, eat with you, move with you
if our arms, legs, noses did not touch
each night in our beloved sleep
your life and my life would not

be so good, so happy, and now
I can see everything that lives
and loves in you, so easily, held-in
as the water that shatters the

restless rock; the breeze that caresses
the most ancient fires, you were there
and we drop into the future in
blue salt, falling in sea-circles of
another world, of permanent tenderness.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/War-of-roses-408847420

Ode to Percy Shelley


24

Lucid are the wild silver keys
Past the fountain of tears of youth
Where the spirit drinks

Ecstasy, till the brain is wide-away
To put to sleep a thousand fears
That once tormented us hourly

O’ like a drowsy child is now
Laid to rest in flowers of sunshine
Thou who were the ‘food of Love’

Talk to me sweetly of the stars again –
That I grew in thee with Music murmuring
Till the sweet self measures divinity

Every word a fragment from the golden shelf
Where the world’s great age begins anew
In each young person’s dissolving dream of soul.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/stare-400830786