waiting

beloved, don't fear;
the heart's morning
that can be dispelled
is not the true dawn
- the next sun will come
galloping over the horizon.

Litha

one spear pierces the next;
from the balance of a shaft,
the world turns towards night
garlanded with blossoms
fading into dawn.

observation

it is
a green and gold
morning—
just uncorked
and foaming over the edge
of the world.

it is the slow rising
of breath

interrupted
by the hard tapping of the heart
like a bird breaking out
to fly away.

outside, the chorus
goes on and on;
inside, we two
are still silent.

the apostle

it is still a rare indigo
behind the curtain of the room,
and the bed breathes slowly
in black and white.

I am thinking of each breath
while I write out the morning
in long and joyful terms—

you are a joy
no more obtrusive
than the next breath, and the one after.

from one to the other

quiet, bright, beautiful.

in all green worlds,
your laughter was the maker.

caution

o beloved!

behind the walls of that wind
that I hear outside
you disappeared, for a long time,
and I was parched of thirst
at the bank of the river.

I threw up my arms
in despair!

and I brushed aside the curtain, and
there you were, laughing.

again and again, I do not listen
but that I am silent.
if I am to hear your voice
I must sing!

willful

at dawn, I shake sleep off
into the wind, where someone else can use it.

all day long, I marvel
at the way I don't notice you;

the grace and comfort of your body
are as easy to me as mine,

and when, suddenly, I open my eyes,
the dawn is staring back.

relieved

the road's stretching and twisting
towards the long line reposing ahead
and, maybe, once they met
with the line of the hills rising and falling
before waking apart.

resurrection

like a seed
feed a little while, on the heart

thus, when to the sun opened
you will to me return

lovers' walk

o, I admit
I don't rush towards emptiness —
at your side, like a new fool,
I savor the rich draughts
that you hand to me by the hour.

a little like

for years I plucked
grass from the ground
and built houses.

the year after that,
I saw that the houses
were beyond the grass.

accept this one

beloved, if you want to leave
go ahead;
you will see a figure in the distance
where I have been waiting all this time.

opening up

listen to the window
indicative
of the glassy speech
- through it, I may see you
walking towards the house
though a little distorted,
a little farther away.

on words

vermilion were the roses
outside, under rain
they may be still;
the head of the pine tosses,
you and I,
asleep.

somnia

dawn checks the morning rush
quick-reined; the grey whip
across the horizon's back.

Decision

I may use this weblog - or I may not.

Interim is a long time.