Constructon paper
and a wet felt tip

I said

was all we ever
needed

to make
a million dollars

you believed in me

my dreams
my promises

I'm sorry I shattered
and broke them all

one by one
vase by vase

When you wear the skin,
a new renaissance begins. Almost
earth smiles and I thank the sky.

Miles and miles the sun
runs to sweep the dust and burns
the dry trees standing straight.

An infinite row of kisses
waiting for the lake to scream,
since the moon refuses to walk on her chest.

The breeze stretches and cools the season
along the country road
variegated light, leaf-filtered
from trees that lean
in rivalry for my eager eyes.

Their foliaged arms dangle, then drop
an amber snowfall all around
as if to awaken me
to the autumn creep
into my bones that click and tick
with each tottery step.

Earth awakens me to the beauty
in this splendorous season
of the gliding swaying passage
of life in alteration
and spiritual invitation
to bathe in the slow current of creation
along this road
and its cool and bright possibilities.

Another Sunday.
Opening the empty space.
What shall it be
On the last day of everything?

Start in the upright,
Twirl to the melody,
Wearing down old soles
To the heels of memory.

Nausea of routine,
Waning appeals unvoiced.
Visions thickening,
Melodies reduced to noise.

   An empty space to fill.
   What shall it be?
   Towards the last day of everything,
   Withering out of mortal shackles
   In emptiness,...freed

~~~

1680

Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few—love at all.