They’re here again.
That auburn that gold
the occasional surprise burst
of green or blue and purple
sits behind my eyes
and reawakens my heart
in the dark
the rainbow that is your hair in the sun
and that perfect sparkle catches my mind
again:

It’s hard to say
which earring it was
so I take the liberty to consider
each silver crystalline spear
creating harmony between gravity and your body;
I take the chance to notice
each peach, orange, and raspberry
that paint your cheeks and nose on
this sunny day
that isn’t today.

I remember
they prove the Golden Hour’s
potential for prying beauty
out of these few dimensions we can comprehend.

And it’s here again.
Smothering everything with
every most distracting color
only to leave within
an hour or less
leaving me blind
and still struggling for air,
distracted by
memory
by shapes
by your shape
by color.

The warm wispy clouds are your hair
the red and orange are your eyes and face
and the bright setting sliver
disappears behind smoke.
And all there is is color.

your forest’s architecture
verdant in spots, and then a stump
did the dead leaves ever have a heart beat
what made the ballad stop, was it sun?

little larva squirming towards a moon
and their mama maggots weep –
to lose a child, to lose a child

when death-creatures want to be
an astronaut, the green canopies are bars
prosper in the centipede teeth munch
fertilizer for a final seed

without vertebrae they climb over stars
& leave your forest’s architecture
crumbling for buzzards.

IV

Before your work
you sit, so still
as in a painting
by Hammershøi
(Isa’s hair,
so like your own).

Beyond the desk,
the bay window
stretches your gaze
to the fox-frequented garden,
the hedged less-leaved beech,
the un-blossomed pear.

Now, in the mind’s eye,
your son, your daughter
bed-bound in a doorway:
(a tender moment witnessed)
then the silent grace,
the shared meal.

V
 
Night falls
and done for the day
the violins unravel.
Only on a brittle guitar,
a Prelude:
Subtle Mysteries of Sleep.
 
As you close your eyes
tomorrow beckons (in a list),
and thinking backwards:
the nettle soup tale;
a birthday cake adventure;
breakfast on the patio with sunshine.
 
Premonitions? Perhaps.
But in yesterday’s paper
a shock of poetry,
plants the seeds of blank verse -
no pointers given
(save these folded words).
 
 
VI
 
 
That evening
?I asked the questions,
and later you said:
‘If I’d not wanted to tell you
I wouldn’t have’.
I’d already guessed. I knew.
 
out in the garden
a sunny day
skuddering clouds
white as the blossom
left and loose
leaving lightness
 
That evening,
as the minutes
ticked away,
I seemed at last
to see you entire,
even your quiet hands.

Raindrops collect in the cracks of the windowsill.
Tears acrobat out of my almond eyes,
My heart is a black flower crumbling in ashes.

I would die a hundred times for my heart to meet yours.
The wet magnolia petals in the churchyard
root my weeping into the ground.

Tylenols for the depths of fever,
in sunrise of morning, my eyes are stained pink.
Dreams of never-ending fall from atop a building, coming to you.

Mist of pine-needles brush stone-carved grave beneath me,
Whisper prayer to beloved on my knees,
roses, daisies, marigolds in vase water the beauty of him.

It will roll in like thunder.
And be unexpected.
Will you know it.
When love comes.

It will totally shock you.
But leave a great impression upon you.
When love comes.
Will you know it.

The greatest surprises will be in your reaction.
But if you're patience.
You will leave will a great satifaction.
When love comes.

Still, will you know it.
When you feel it.
Because the odds are great.
You won't even see it.
When love comes.

Floating like an aroma in the wind.
Love will turn out to be your best friend.

Sometimes, the world pours from my eyes
and all light escapes me.

There’s a shiny tree, in a shiny island, upon the shiny sea,

That looks upon the horizon with smiling leaves,

Creatures dwell there strange and weird,

Some with a moustache and some with a beard!

Some with green eyes, some with lots of lice,

Some foolish and some smart,

But two of them, pure of heart!



One is a butterfly with wings so bright,

yellow at day and blue at night,

she does not fly, just dances and skates,

coz her wings can’t hold so much weight!

She loves to eat and talk and laugh,

and care about her friends on her own behalf!



The other is a Grasshopper, that hops and hops,

every single day, till his heart nearly pops,

he is wise and strong, with a solid frame,

he knows it all, he knows all the same,

that everything has a end, and most of it is just a game



Both these creatures are really good friends,

Sometimes they eat on the butterfly’s demand,

And sometimes they hop on the hopper’s command

But never they fight and never abscond,

If one is in trouble, the other appears,

To help and to fill their hearts with cheers



The butterfly trips, when she loses fear and knows no bounds,

And turns into a bird, free and singing with lovely sounds,

But her brains reduce to mere a lump of clay,

And hopper has to guard her, lest she flies away



And the hopper, is not without a weakness, just like our princess,

He loses control over his heart and mind, sometimes obsessed and sometimes possessed!

The butterfly tells him to take it easy and not get so dizzy,

Hopping is not a business, it is just a silly recess!



The story has just begun and this is a prelude,

Wait and see what happens of the butterfly chick and the grasshopper dude!