I'm not in love...                                                    not even a little
  but                 I want                                        to be                       in
love so                    badly.                       My heart                    aches
to feel                                that kiss; that breath                       of life
   that                                 we poets call love in                     an awed
       whisper.                                                         ­                 But...
                Love
                    ­   refuses                                                          ­      The hole
                                to                          ­                                   in              my
                                   show                                                             ­  heart
                                            her face. So my heart                        is
                                 ­                has a hole in it.                              a
                                                                ­                                         Q
                                                               ­                                           u
                    ­                                                                 ­                      e
                                                               ­                                             s
                  ­                                                                 ­                          i
                                                               ­                                              o
                                                               ­                                                               
                                                                ­                                             n.

                                            Where are you, Love?

I cannot eat and I cannot sleep anymore
because Your Great Love has been
knocking down my doors.
God, I am filthy, but you make me clean
You've had great plans for me
before I even became a little bean.
Growing up brings some bitter pains,
You wash it away with your healing rain.
My timid soul is thirsty and starving.
Shape me Lord, into your perfect carving.

We pile them high
The slush taking shape
The sky made solid
In our hands.

Every one young or old
Likes to fabricate
The form

Armies would they be
If, like in cartoon,
They could attain conscious
Motion

But alas they are doomed
Like so many of us
To melt and evaporate
And return to whence they came

In the big melt
The sum's rays glinting
Fiery inferno
Causing gentle curving,

Maketh ice
Which forms puddles
Which give way
To earth.

we were walking
in a dark and empty city

we were looking
helpless and for pity

we were seeing
places for us two

even though i'm not so sure
if you could see them too

i looked into a window
and guess what i saw

it was not your name
on the television screen

but it was mine, my lostness
what caused me a heart attack

the words did not came out
all of a sudden everything went black

because of the title 'missed persons'
and you were not beside me

you were not beside me anymore
in panic i started to look around

and guess what my eye found

there, on the end of the street
i saw someone running

a black shape

and i'm sure it was you
searching for the horizon

Patterns float
obscured
by uncertain mists
recreating
a scene perceived
and painted
in washes of water colour
overlapping, merging
transfixed
fresh and timeless.

The shape
of routine activities
unpredictably change
or shatter
behind
the inexorable advance of time
as sequences
inevitably retreat
into a fading future
until the circle is complete.