As I was soaking in the morning gold
the wind wandered through my hair
stroking my locks
embracing my being
“He’s dreaming of you,”
she said to me, “Misses his sweetheart,”
she smiled
And before I could question or red cheeks
she left,
glancing once over her shoulder in greeting

I

If dawn were a human
and walked over the earth
every morning
guiding the blanket of day in its path,
would he
one day
decide on a wrong turn and
walk through my street
by my window
and peep through to see if I’m there?


II

If dawn were a knocker-upper
and I his client;
in the morning
would he summon the sun
to rise over me
and rouse me from my sleep?
And
when I open the window for him
nod in contentment before turning
away with a starling smile
to set forth on his mission?


III

If dawn were a breeze
and my bedroom window open,
would he
if I’m still sleeping
sweep through my little space
with swift morning freshness
stroke my cheek with a cool
gentle finger
and leave again after putting
a golden kiss
on my forehead?


IV

If dawn were an artist
and the air
his canvas,
would he colour the skies
with his brush
to paint me
a picture of the passion he has
for me?
Or shape the clouds
tenderly
with his fingers,
each one
to resemble them to a drop
of the ardency he possesses
for me?


V

If dawn were a little bird
and I his human friend;
each morning,
would he perch at my Western window
to sing me awake,
chirping
tweeting
his sweetest notes
in a love song he wrote
for me?

your
silence
silence
silence
would’ve crept me
out of my normal,

wasn’t it for my
patience
patience
patience
that kept me inside

my bubble
of hope, freedom,
brotherly love,
and happiness

in life.

who is the wind? what
do you know? tell me
who is she?
if she’s a ghost
a wandering spirit
then who was it she used to be?

what is it she whispers? what is it
she says? do you understand?
if she laughs in the leaves
and rages in caves
then who was it
who taught her speech?

where does she come from? where to
does she fly? has she
a secret stead to stay?
has she a bed of pines
or a cloud as home
or is she without a safe place?

what a mystery, beautiful wonder
powerful force is she
who tickles our cheeks
and plays with our hair
and never betrays
her identity

How great and beautiful he is…

When I stare deep into his bright blue
eyes, the world -and I in it- become
like mites: puny, unimportant, tiny matters.
His mighty bearing and profoundness
are the only things that count,
until I wake and find
myself lost in wonder.

if you are
my treasure, I’ll find you in
a breath of sky
a taste of sun
a splash of rainbow
a drop of moon
a cup of fog

I’ll find you, between
the daisies of spring
the laughter of stars
the whispers of wind
the morning’s gold and
the even’s silver

I’ll find you.
Because where
my heart is, will you be

Why is he leaving
to try obtain beatitude
when I, his Angel, am
left behind
Where has he
gone
to find fortune
when I, his Treasure, am
still
here
Is he
and everything he was
just a memory
or has it never been?