I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Currently I feel empty;
I feel drained
I feel as if some soul,
some inner being,
has been ripped from me.

I'm starring at him;
his pathetic face
stained with tears and hope and love
I hate him,
and I am going to **** him with my realizations.

He is dead,
and I am re-born empty,
and a murderer.

I
duck into tree light
while this red earth field,
seven years ripe,
germinates small answers
to questions hard planted.

You,
Shroud in silence,
drink the silver night air
while the elusive slips
silently by.

We
stand sky-high
weaving through
grain threshed
wind swept fields.

Suddenly,
awakened by the capacious star's
rising yellow ardor,
verdant implants of dewy life
lift skyward and scatter untrodden roots.

this is the last man to leave the funeral
this is the doctor turning off the machines
this is the single ant squashed under a rock
this is the car abandoned in the desert

this is the hunched-over tears that fall
on the ground turning into tiny dark
specks

or

the sorrowful eyes which tear up but
who refuse to let their hearts do what
they request

I am this,
you are this,
we are this,
they are this

everyone is this
at some point or
another

this is the sanity in sorrow
the golden lining that proves
there will be tomorrow

this is the worst moment
this is the best moment
this is the time when you
will know why you are
what you are and then
why you are going to
become something else

this is the fire
this is the freeze
this is the storm
this is you and me

Don't cry, this kiss is a kiss goodbye.
Don't cling, it's time to part.
Don't look at me nor ask me why
I've taken back my heart.

No questioning, no pleading;
No door remains ajar.
No doubt your heart is bleeding
Now, and wounds of love will scar.

Don't hope to ever turn back time,
Nor resurrect the flame
Of what became a pantomime
Of love, in all but name.