"Knowing how to be solitary is central to the art of loving. When we can be alone, we can be with others without using them as an escape."*

I feel like loving you today
like the wind through the willow trees
like broken pieces love their design
I would wear my glance
light as a feather
I would lean against the past
as a girl asking petals on her nails
"now he loves me,  now he loves me not"

I wonder how your love looks
when I'm boring
crazy with seriousness
or amnesic
of the burden of words

Today I feel like loving you
in the scent of freshly made
cherry jelly.
Do you know how to whisper
bedtime stories on my skin?

I think it was yesterday
I saw a beautiful man
on his way to freeing time
letting it roam
on forgotten paths of wonder
as if promising to make the most of himself
that very moment when it's time
to lose yourself

I feel like loving you today
like a mother forgetting her sorrow
like a spare lover
offering a shoulder as a butterfly nest
for your laughter
while you are dreaming yourself
in these words

in this absence of tomorrow
when only birds turn into flying
I frame the image of you
owning yourself
being here, being everywhere
inside, you
words of thunder you were carrying
breathing in your fingers

my voice passed through you
resting in unknown spaces
I didn't look back
since each day is a child
I make with your shadow

my true self is a blank paper
spring will bring me flowers
your image is so real
between pillars of silence
you keep painting yourself with naked air
under untouched skin

I'm walking blinded in your language
wanting to coin my phrases
like "I can die without you"
or "I need you to love my shoulders"

this is all too strange
under the eyelids
this beauty
when birds descend into singing
when tigers turn into grass
when your eyes turn into silence
and I disappear into words

finally some light can settle
in the hidden places
between one moment
to another
the wholes of time are filled
with dirt
with blue horror
like on the bottom of the sea

as inside, so outside
as above, so below
they used to say
but light there is a medium
of refraction for darkness
in this desolate place
of destruction
for one to exist
to be real
to feel safe
to have it all
another should be
trashed, diminished,
disfigured, humiliated
not in innocent metaphors
not in unkind dreams
not in works of art
but out there inside or
on the streets busy
with people

such is the gentleness of light
and the merciful god of unity
in the design of heart
when we can still recognize
the human kind

I am still standing here
and quietness can come
cause I've already cried
an ocean of light

the face of man is still burning
in the name of God missing an "o"
while some  "map of  the problematique"
is lying naked in the sun

still,
don't stop the rock & roll
the blissful oblivion
this vital movement
into forgiveness

On the high stage, his clumsy swan has transformed
in to a dancing flame, though  sensed a twist
in the script, he sat eyes fixed on her, feeling gratified,
within moments, in perfect timing she changed colors
mesmerized everyone, to him certain moves were baffling,
unexpected, still he beamed, his eyes shone thinking,
"All that dancing beauty is mine".But can one contain a flame?
was he letting himself down by  being possessive about a beam?
(It's too early to feel proud about new loves and mango flowers,
he used to hear uttered often when he was still a callow youth)

When the applause died down, a commotion followed
a rush of people to see her up close, then a silence
that was not intended, he was waiting for her, what went wrong?
He waited for the swan that came into her own, within his embrace,
to return, like a farmer who thought all mango blooms are fruits.

Surrounded by admiring eyes, she didn't find a need to look at his side
and when he decided to go and look for his swan and take her home
he was shocked to find that away she had flown,
over his dreams, above the fluffy white clouds, never to return

“I don’t like future, mama
“I don’t wanna go there
I like when past comes
cause I can fix things”
sometimes  words desire such
and time just follows desire anywhere
Where love is, there will time go
into a past without future
to set absence on a naive fire
to light the windows
to dive into the thick air of yesterday
without breathing out
or rushing into a dream
of a future without past
without shadow
without doubt

while past and future
simply exist  in the same time
undisturbed by paradoxes
in this fluid larger than us
of single moment within the moment
in the present tense
of love

when my son was younger
he asked -

how old are the mountains
from where did the First People come
why does the sun sleep in the ocean
what is the color of rain

now that my son is older
stronger, wiser and bolder
he asks -

how old are the mountains...
...what is the color of rain


some things don't change.