*
how many times
have I tried to
describe the
feeling of
tenderness
arising in me
in a poem
.
as I walked the
garden at night
at dusk or through
cloudy days when
your little heads
are reclined all
closed down as
.
children asleep
.
the daisies would
not hear me
nearing them
a motherless
woman being
the greatest
mother of all
.
*
I walk around my
small land where trees
abound and I have
a restlessness this year
I never had as if
my garden and I have lost
communication
.
but I attend the land a lot
.
I sit waiting as at
the bed of a sick child to
whom nobody hands
water exhausted
I tighten my hands one
with the other in
silent pain I look down
.
to the aging skin
to the black rim under
my nails its dirt
sticking to me my garden’s
way to hold onto me
.
.
*
let things slip away
so not to sink
let words come out
precise
.
try things out those
that come your way
nothing comes around
twice the same
.
look around now
breathing in awe
.
*
as I contemplate
morning light peaking
through cold mornings
.
it’s the sound of the wind
running low on the streets
that gets my attention
.
getting distracted
following fast
moving
.
dried leaves
rustling through
disappearing
.
as dawn catches
up with me
behind my back
.
*
it has to do with love
gazing at every
small thing and hear
the thank you
smile swelling inside
it has to do with
abundance gratitude
.
.
*
where did my soul go
she’s hurt and offended
she’s hiding from me
from others I will go now
looking for her I will
walk long step after step
until the blood pumps
until the heart awakens
until my legs hurt no more
until I could hear my soul’s
voice calling me out to be
taken softly in my arms
.
*
it took to be still
once more
to feel poetry
moving in
and around me
to flow to
lead to surge up
delicate
.
*
tiredness came in
with this month
short of light
.
the trees light up
flashes in the short
hours fleeting in fogs
.
*
poetry covers me
as water on a pebble
giving me a smooth
nature to be enjoyed
.
.
*
rustling the rusted
leaves run the ground
the rain of the dead
becomes the soft sound
of the lower wind
rearranging the streets
of an early autumn
.
*
the leaves fall
with the same dancing
moves of butterflies
flights wearing
in this season
the same hues
it’s the enchantment
of summer ending
rays to weave
weaker and weaker
as time goes by
.
*
solitude lived
in absence
of fear
leads you
to great riches
.
*
I gently swing
back and forth
I gently move
my body in the
evening air
an hammock
weightless I
wait for my next
migration into
the still night
stretched on
.
.
*
the times I survived
my hardships
.
brought abruptly
into my life
were those on which
.
I stood on adversity
as a bird
perched on a tree
.
*
the garden told me
it needs me
.
a poet to walk along
it to unlock
the unseen unheard
.
to feel home
while lost it needed
it told me
.
someone that will
walk it for
no reason at all
.
if not to be
it to breath along
.
annamosca 