Days

Days are pages in our book
We take care of the way
we turn them,
we stop and meditate
in parts of their reading,
we continue the journey of being,
in the discipline of trust,
or in the doubt of leeriness…
Days, then, become exotic flowers
after our long triage to keep
patience and love
until they are bright and full of grace,
until our beloved come back
from the Fields of Courage,
all thirsty for our smile,
all ready for our kiss!  

***

O, amorous silence

bland and impatient
budding in me
like a grazing land
you hive me off the crowd
as my diversity is my strength
as my weirdness is my performance
as my unedited writing is my truth

***

The colour of your eyes

Is a remembrance of this short spring moment
A nearby cafe in Berwick
will never fail to think
when flowers dispute for
best adventures…
when coffee smells, and buds await
I am drained in pleasure of a wait…
my heart, a swing of wonders

when plunged I am in you

your smile, a hanging moon
a blue lagoon,
your sight unspoken still remains
a skylight gains…
the colour of your eyes!

the colour of your eyes, ahead, 
with all delicate thoughts
are teal and light sky dashes
on my pillow,
a crystal ball carried by storks
foresaw my countless kisses
when grapes fermenting with my love
danced on your wide bright forehead

You may have said I love you,
didn’t hear it,
when I was sipping coffee

*From the book “The Rapids Of My River”, 2017 (under press)