*
awe rising with
me in the
early morning
snow covering
the tall mountains
in the desert
three days
of rain almost
continuous
a rare sound
tip tapping
on the skylights
winter holds it’s
own rhythm
lacking patience
to stay longer
.
.
.
.
.
***
.
rest in winter
acceptance
in the happy silence
.
feel your roots
dancing slowly
underground
.
stretching
toward the needed
death is but an attire
.
-Dec. 2009-
.
.
*
following a long winter rain
tears falling on a wet
lonely bosom
.
I breath many
short and close
small, compacted
.
a vision after another
slim as a trail out
of a dark maze
.
punches, songs to my
heart, reconciled
your beauty sipping in
.
the scum dried on me
washed out, left on the
ground among dirt
.
where worms thrive
.
.
The London Hours
.
No more us and I, and them
Night time nearing at 1pm
No wind chill, no chills,
Remote coldness.
.
This winter isn’t like
The one you handed me
In colored paper
And ribbons I was excited to untie,
It will be the usual
Gloom of day-spair,
Of no directions,
No sense.
.
Look right, look left,
Mind the gap, do not cross,
Where to, no more zebras,
Just hyenas and victims,
Many of us.
.
I know you not,
You took up a different passport,
Broke the legs of time and sunk
Somewhere where I do not find
Air to breath and there are
No kisses to revive me.
.
It’s the tallest solitude,
No eyes to lay on,
No tiptoeing naked,
No coughing the bodies against,
No nightlong reviving.
.
No snow, no strolls, no fog,
No sleepover nestling.
No, no, no, no, no.
Yes, that’s all.
.
.
