When I asked you what your name was
You replied and said, “It’s Love”
Then I asked you what your song is
You then sang the song of a dove
Please chirp to me your fancy
Make me rock to your lullaby
Flap with wings that dance free
So we can sing that Love does fly.

Some prose poems patched in his hands
Suddenly then, ecstasy or hypnosis faces him!
As he was reading, bathing in scents of cedar
She stands before him, disrobed, Phaedra-like and solemn!

He mouthed those lines while blossomed within him
A garden of secrets, rustling beeches
The mused muse came to visit him when
Every morning he read on, gold upon her head

He never put the velvety book down
The air heavy with laughter, desires, and rhymes
The Western wind gently rocked them as they held
Each other…Yet as the last poem echoed, she adamantly fled!

Translated on April 17, 2019
Nancy, France

Cannot finish a
poem without you in the moon.
Bystander named you.

I want you to take
back your words. The replica
of grief will not last.

In dark the fish comes
out of water to kiss stones
of the temple for bliss.

I sit
on a canopy
of cool air
straight,  aligned
my soul afloat
heart gently graced
Lotus palms,
fingers touching
as chakras form rainbows
from my base,  
all through my spine
divinity frothing free
In prismatic pulses
my heartwaves
flushed of poisons,
energy cleansed
I am open
as the universe opens
to me
my third eye
in blossom

and even here
you reside in my
tiniest of fibers
even if I wanted to
I couldn't wash you out
you look into me
parting me,  gently
reaching into my
deepest of
strata

I am fresh fruit,
pulled apart
My juice runs
like a godly river
without me even
parting my thighs
Time and time again
I am electrified
touching this earth
the ripe flow of you
folds me into
little earthquakes,  
seismic vibrations
Only felt by me,
shaken to subtle core

and even if I tried to
resist it
you melt into me
like breath
you rock me
from chaos
into still ponds

So
for now
to calm the raging
waters that flow over
and through me
I sit
I breathe
and feel
one with
the heavens
and earth
the inner magic
rushing to me

I have myself,
woman of woman
and you,
a part of
     my landscape
forever

Your face has been a maze. Was the lie
a hidden devotion inside? A hidden sigh?
Were you smiling, back then? And, why?

Was the beauty of your days
found upon your singular face?
Was Leonardo charmed by your womanly ways?
Were you a captive to the dark side of him?
Was your smile just a secret
held in the heart of his whim?

Perhaps, your Mona Lisa grin
was nothing more than
the artist's portrait of only him.
Was that why you smiled within?
Could your face have been
the biographical face of his sin?

Your smile was somber; yet sweet.
Was it of a hidden need?
A hidden tease? Or, a hidden conceit?
Was it dangerous and scheming?
The mystery lies in the night
of Leonardo's own dark dreaming.

Your face was this mysterious thing
to be handed down through the ages,
to dangle on the broken wing
of some gallery's whimsy and guile.
Where we could all be drowned in,
held captive by, that Mona Lisa smile.