You should’ve spoken up
When you talked down to me
Instead you split my soul
Spitting endless inbetweens
And now the spool spins heavy,
Wiry untouched runaway dreams
Where the railcar always passes
Just a moment out of reach

I don't need reminding
     though time is on my heels
     in impatience.  I know
     age is telling and I'm drifting
     toward the edge of final darkness
     with no return. Yet how calm
     tender, comforting are the echoes
     that are resonating in my being entire
     and how gladsome am I
     to embrace the ultimate beauty
     and poignancy as my heart
     reflects upon the kisses
     of lips, the songs sung and the touch
     that only love alone could ever impart

      for there's no loss nor diminution
      in the willing surrender
      to that which is more sublime, stronger
      than the dying.  All that life is
      is but a dream-felt harbinger
      to a glory and splendour
      beyond the ken of every earthly treasure

      come then,  come
      let me feel the pulse
      of this caressing ending
      that's but the beginning
      beautified, blessed and sanctifying
      the departing that's most endearing

just checking in as
madness and earth are shaking,
while the sun rises in Thunder Bay, and
the trucks at the Moscow subway take speed, all
I need is a piece of earth under my feet.
How Much?

the blanket hugs Earth's chest, and
steps move holding a bouquet of sunflowers while
gazing like a thief, whose big eyes are
rolling on the ground, “don’t you see how steps flow with
Parisian prudence, I am brave and happy on top of Your Eiffel.”  When?  the eyes become wizards of clouds, and
“I”- Rest in wonder. How Long?

Today,
I plainly could see your infinite demure.

Today,
I understood your yearnings for bluejays and loons.

Today,
You cuddled me with all your splendor and virtue.

Today,
You loved me as your own child.

Today, Canada
I am crying with tears of joy.

I feel
the burn in my chest,
as the sunny dream chops its edges
I run happy warming up in La vita è bella,
while the soles of my feet are burning
into the dark earth. Who cares? only
into the dark earth roots grow,
all lilac is still there at the Moscow Metro, while illusion succumbs to temptation running faster and harder,
the underworld has a life of its own,
a life of greater depth and purity, while
my eyes touch the cold striking murals, and
the book falls on the
Whisper