summer buries her
golds and yellows,
opens her soulful eyes;

the running clouds
whisper to the day,
write love notes on the
parchment sky,

you remember our love,
brush my lips with
a kiss of rose.

i’m drifting like
the sea,

your voice the colours
of the sun,
unwrapping my core,

the ink dries on the
paper,

our love glows in the
gentle rain.

moon, bright lamp
of grey,

sky, open and brave,
colossal dream of
drifting love,

sweet journey of
the night, lifting
her pretty head,
worn and unholy

like the falling petals of
the stars.

Fall to me, all you streets of Rome,
With your embrowned oils from torched walls and breccia of shadows,
The pizzicato of stairways and afternoon slowly closed
Like the thick, leathery-echo from this book of all roads.

Fallen, smoldering empire of storefronts and back-shop heirlooms,
Your lupine hills unbound with milk of cur in the wind and woods,
To your fallow fields rowed deep by a conquest of oars,
To the deepest silence and soot-muted oneness of Pompeii,
And a sky that is an ancient coin, without worth,
But still rubbed smooth at the edges by overfond lovers.

boy of dream,
the colours melt,

your lips finding mine,

beneath an ashy sky,
where the shadows lean,

your fire finds mine,
your kiss as beautiful
as a summer rose.

it was near the cricket field,
stitched into the ground -

amid clover and tufts of grass -
a little ring of white mushroom,

longing for the night sky,
for the journeying cloud,

sweetened by flower and dust,
where the little fairies danced,

balancing on the air -
weaving the moonlight like cloth -

with their drowsy feet
and wings of blue stalk.