A child is
stooped over
picking flowers
with her fingers
storing away light and gifts.
A man is reading words
sitting
holding down the pages with his fingers
storing away flames and shadows.
Fingers connect
‘Reading and Picking’
Read, picked, and compiled
A child picking flowers. A man reading poems.
* * *
The muddied sun
Frothing grape seeds corrode the moon.
A reddish blue twilight spreads through the breath that
carries words,
transports a single spring, a single sea
to the glory of oblivion.
Then an angel arrives to place flowers
on a table in the darkness of my mind
where I ponder and yearn, and
quiet winter infuses fragrance into my dream.
I hear in the wind the rain the dead hear,
soaking thoughts and grasses, moistening the muddied
Sun.
* * *
To live
To live
is always convoluted
it constantly harms the so-called Self.
What a sloppy mess it is to live.
I am doing today
what I was appalled to see others doing a few days ago.
While I allow myself love and happiness
the world becomes ambiguous at the point of touching another
what my eyes see during the day will not revert to the
anonymity of Nature
Born like mushrooms from the great earth
we walk on along our paths.
Beautiful lumps of flesh, slack lumps of flesh
different shapes placed over different masses –
allowing skin to blur the lines our eyes see
we see what is vulnerable, and know what is threatened
Um comentário:
Excelente!
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