hot as a roman spa,
the day fragments
hits its searing top note,

the blissful breeze
waves a flag,

the sky, the sun’s captive,
is all slumber and mouth,

i swallow the dust,
watch a butterfly
land with the wings of a god.

i’m carved out of stone,
my heart windswept
and wild.

i wind and unwind the stars,
hide in sweet caves.

summer unlocks her doors
opens shutters far-flung
in a distant sky.

your love draws me nearer,
scatters me like rose-dust,
attracts like the dreams of the night.

hot, hot sun, golds and yellows,
sky like a tranquil lake,

in the cave-like hollows of the wood,
the smooth leaves glide,

shadows, falling like dark water,
cooled by a wanton breeze,

sink like a gentle flow of air
woven out of breathing silk and the

dim space that catches its breath -
collides with the sun –

hangs dampened branches out to dry.

the stars lie on the water,
shimmer as night bleeds
all its blacks like a dark root,

summer’s yellows are now
forgotten, darkness chisels
water and sky,

blossoms stony and grey
like a colossal and
beautiful flower.

the summer roses
flower then unsettle,
crumple in the storm,
blow red to brown.

where the night carries her silence,
her greys the bridging dome of sky,
her stones their blossomed ridge-

the moon’s half-circle bends
amid cloud, steps in
staccato, where the
stars can’t be seen;

i am less than the cloud
and the sky,
hardly breathing,
moon-ghosts in my hair,
moon-opals in my belly.

I was passing through my childhood
on a bike
to the delight of flying with the balloons

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بر چرخی که می راندم
...تا شوق به پرواز درآمدن با بادبادک ها