I cannot hear your name
Without an apparent melancholy, and yet
I am indifferent to everything but your name.
You see my predicament,

I, causing my own stab to the heart, say
It over and over again.

You had completely satisfied all that my heart
And affections had hoped for or even wished.
“Baraye,” is a word meaning “for”
Or “because of” in Farsi.

You stand
Gathered together,

The lines of your branches,
The ink of your markings
Standing out.

On your grey-white paper
I will fill your book
With beautiful poetry.

A mist is rising, collecting in a fog which wraps all.
Reflected in the tall highway lights, shadow-like.
Obscured from full vision the traffic whizzes past.
Day will soon be dawning, and the fog will not last.
For now, I sit in the veiled cloud of humidity rising.

Classical Dictionary:
Scrapbook
Peaceful
Lady
Adore
Ballet
Embellish
Fondness
Balloon
Ephemeral
Love

Scrapbook, a Poem
The Peaceful Lady Adored Ballet
She often Embellished her Fondness
For Balloons for they were as Ephemeral
As Love

You left a trail of breadcrumbs
That would lead back to you.

Hungry little bird that I am
I ate them one by one, and all,

Every single one,
And here I am.

Like substances broken out from your favorite perfume,
Somethings apart from the whole cannot be understood, nor enjoyed.
The beautiful scent comes from the delicate balance of each component.

Ingredients in your favorite dish do not taste as good as the whole.
Try eating flour on its own and see how far you get, and yet
A dessert made with it can be culinarily divine.

Sand is nice but what is it without the ocean or the ocean with sand?
You could plunk an alpine mountain down into a desert and then what?
The delicate ecosystem will not survive for long and then you have desert.

And what of literature, poetry?  What is its substance made of in the end?
Metaphors, meter, rhythm, rhyme, imagery, assonance, alliteration,
Words, phrases, stanzas, tone and form, ideas expressed to eke out the essence.

How do we construct a poem?
Poetry doesn't have to make sense,
But we want it to.

When the veil of mist hangs
Across the pastures and fields
The day is dawning gradually
Turning all things to color.

The sun swims in these pools
As a diver swimming slowly immerges
Out of the depths into sea-blue light
And begins to see clearly.

We feel the brief touch of cool mist
Before it can fully dissipate
Leaving us to immerge into our day
Warmed by the touch of the sun.

This new day breathed its first breath.