Lights off, blankets tucked,
The last person goes under.
This old house stands still,
Holding its position
Against frozen wind,
While the blank sheet of snow
Mutes the sounds
Of a whole world on hiatus.

One last sip of water from the sink,
Letting the tap run
until it freezes your lips,
And you glide on the hardwood
Back to your space.

In your chair, the one place
You wanted to be.
But the only thing
That you can feel,
Is the pull of the abyss
And call of the unknown.

December's twilight, soft and gray
Twinkling lights, a festive sway
Christmas magic, all around
Yet, melancholy's gentle sound

Memories of laughter, young and free
Children's wonder, eyes aglow with glee
Reflecting on the tree's shining *****
A bittersweet reminder of life's fragile walls

Eleven winters past, a loss so true
My father's absence, felt anew
December's joy, now tinged with pain
A heart remembering love, and love in vain

In this season of sparkle and light
I search for wonder, a fleeting sight
A glimpse of childhood's untainted delight
A respite from sorrow, on this winter's night

My heart finds solace in the love that remains
Among the bittersweet feeling it still conveys
The softness of the season's lights eases the pain
Amid the merriment of others in these Christmas days.

She sunk
When the waves rowed
She sunk.
To a dark, far place of ruin
She sunk.
I tried to grab her hand but
She sunk.

They just watched in a daze as
She sunk.
The sunlight tainted the clear waters as
She sunk.
She was always beautiful till the day
She sunk.
I tried to grab at her feet but
She sunk.

Just drifting and singing that old song
She sunk.
Tell the old and young
She sunk.
On the day, the leaves burned
She sunk.
With curses on her tongue
She sunk.
I tried to grab at her heart but
She sunk.

I was created from air and tears.
I was born from humility,
which is foreign
to this land, to unknown skies.

I do not want to be a dream
that disperses in darkness;
I do not want to remind of existence,
which misses the lie.

With each subsequent vision
I come closer to a universe
that, hastily invented, does not associate
with tenderness,
does not connect with silence.

Please think, before the last tear,
the definitive flame of a smile,
falls asleep in you.
My body, divided into chapters,
becomes an apocalypse,
for which it is worth visiting paradise,
admitting sadness.

I do not want the future
to belong entirely to me.
I do not want the reflections of shadows
to hurt my heart.

I watch your illusions furtively -
I am leaving this place, looking for
another penance.
I will no longer dance as the ballad desires,
as the dream indicates.

I will not become the foundation
for senses.

Time is a River

Time is a river,
It ages, rages
Racing and chasing
Changing, remaining
When everything else disappears.

Time is a river,
It flows, it knows
Exactly where the hidden hide
It finds and guides
Lost souls it
Found me.

Time is a river
It heals it reveals
The hurt the worst
Of the demons and heeds
No one, no plan
Every span of life
It sees it feels
It waits for no one, no plan.

Time is a river
It runs or it races
Do we fight it or
Does it fight us?
For control or for love
Through the sand through the mud
Through the minds
Of the weak of the strong
It critiques, never wrong.

Time is a river
Forever and never
Does it stop?
It may slow down or run faster
Though every disaster
Celebrations, devastations
Heartache and joy
But it always runs.
Time is a river.

when the echoes of harmony leave the heart’s chambers,
when the ears ring between extremities of silence,
when the hallows shudder into a lull,
when the birds sing out of tune,

we shall muse together again -
my sweet bitterness.

12/3/22

When snow drapes the world,
I hear the echo of wings,
their flight a melody
I can no longer touch.

When the air fills with song,
I see the quiet fall of white,
its silence a ghost
pressed into memory.

I am always leaning—
toward what was,
what might be,
what should have been.

The moment,
no matter how it gleams,
slips through my hands
like water,
like wind.

---

12/5/24

Perhaps this is why I gather fragments,
why the glint of frost on a blade of grass
holds my gaze longer than the expanse of snow.
Why I follow the tilt of a bird’s head,
its small movements louder than the sky.

The whole of any moment
is too vast, too sharp—
a cacophony of light and sound
I cannot hold.

But in the minutia,
I find a silence I can bear,
a single thread
to keep my mind from unraveling.

Perhaps this is how I survive the present:
by breaking it into pieces

small enough to love, maybe,


small enough to leave.

For many decades, I believed
that selling my heart was worth it.
Without ceremony,
at a bargain price,
to entrust it to better hands.

I believed that the mutual morning
would return with
the first breath.
The first light green tear
will be resurrected under the eyelid -
there is too much loneliness.

It came to light - prayers
will remain unanswered
if anxiety does not find its way,
does not reach
the margin of future.

You dreamed clearly
and to spite my melancholy; I felt
the taste of forbidden words,
the breath of thoughts
that were waiting for
their turn.

You know, I would like to dedicate
to you the remnant of light -
tenderness belongs to
someone else.

Passion? Shame on me
to admit my silence.
Will I find you when one more sip
of life, the last unintentional cry,
has simply faded away?
Will you return to hand me
eternity, again late, again lost?

I found you on the wrong side
of chiaroscuro.
I asked for sleepless raindrops,
so unlike your tears.

I tried to dream the future,
so that the door would remain
open and the window would be barred.

I know that you are
still looking for a way back - dawn
will not compensate you.
Twilight will not give you
forbidden fruits, although your skin
will be rough.

I want to breathe unknown air,
feel a touch so generous
that I will forget the directions
of the world, the amount of tears
I have shed.

You immerse yourself in me,
although I miss my own world so much.
I recognize in you
the tenderness for which I still
talk to the stars,
I am ashamed of the Moon.