You call me the one while holding a mirror
The cracks you see will always be mine

Smile or frown, not but a shallow grave,
never gave it much thought
All will be bygones soon enough

Yet at night, or at dawn, my heart softens
With wine it turns to liquid

Quicksilver love
Creatures in winter fog
And I yearn for the light touch of fingers against velvet, the curve of my back

To the right music my heart will break into
a thousand pieces of delicate porcelain

Division bell in a lighthouse at the west coast in Denmark
Oh, put me back together, you,
with golden poetry and call me art
Give me your story of choice

And did you know?

When the sun hits the snow and makes it sparkle like your warm, ice blue eyes I want to cry
Tears of unfathomable, unreasonable pain

The beauty of it all, the beauty of you,
of fireflies whirling trough cities, lost in dreams

Still

My inner life is but a daydream
Oh, words, please fail me
My smile, please betray me
I cannot live up to this oasis of emotions

The wall is too high
The wall is too thick

And honesty would break our hearts

She lay in bed,
her body a poem
upon my chest.
A sweet perfume
of rose memory
wafts in the space
between our breaths.
A silent incantation
disorients the voices  
in my head and it is quiet.
Our embrace is poetry,
and there are no words.
Just the silence between
lovers, whispered nothings.
I hold her tight,
drawing her to me
intent upon fading
into the memory of a rose.

Life lightly drifting like seeds
of a dandelion on the slightest breeze
up and away beyond
the day to day  bounds
over fences to a grass greener
over a tall pine
in the distance
to light down someday real
in an arm of nature a face
of sun
a light so brilliant a future
of limitless creations
happiness
a smile of a cradle of
green hill
over the horizon once
now real
so flesh and blood
and I treasure
I see
I saw I know
this is where
I choose
to make my home

the nights die before my Eyes
the nights are a blur
I have no days
the lights are dark

i watch you
fall at the feet
of those
who will never
know your name

im here
im real
i love you
and you
are distracted

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands