Letter, January 31, 2016

Your breath emanates my poem — given what poetry is to me, do you realize the depth of that image? Oh, how your breath lives in me! But, to me, poetry is so much more than this beat pulsing in my heart; poetry is the very substance of life, the interiority of it weaving its forms and outer shells. Poetry is the essence — and you, the essence of that essence. I am dizzy feeling this intuition, contemplating it, allowing it to take and overtake me. But deeper than the intoxication with which it floods my veins this intuition and image fills me with clarity as a dawn like calmness submerges and raises me to a sky hitherto unknown. I live at the root from which the world and existence draw substance and life, from and into which everything flows and perishes and is reborn. Your breath, Beloved, emanates my poem, and doing so it annihilates me into you. What now remains of me? I do not know for you have filled me. I am now your overflow, the sheer beauty of your face spilling grace and emanating the world.

Free Verse # 345 (ciel infini, nid intime)

Ses cheveux de colombe
lisses comme la nuit
coulaient en fleuves
au fond de mon cœur
joignant par leurs flots
le ciel infini, le nid intime
au centre de ma demeure.

~

The stormwind blew
like a wailing beast
and the lone house
out on the open plain
trembled down to the roots
tying it to the womb of the earth

~

Touchant la serrure
au milieu de son ventre
avec un rayon de lune,
pétales par pétales
déployant son corps,
fleur d’ombres blancs
flambant un monde secret
au centre de l’énigme.

~

Son cœur était un coffret
qui donnait comme un puit
au fond de la terre

Free Verse # 344 (love happens)

Love happens
with no beginning or end,
a full circle
wider than the sky,
the heart of being
in each moment gushing
deeper than eternity.

~

Gone
the sad birdsongs
of autumn,
the hush
of winter snows
is all I hear.

~

In the palm of snow
my heart is a red rose
throbbing with desire

~

The silk of poetry
I offered,
in her dark hair
a flower,
full moon in its sky.

~

Lost in the dark…
in the billowing night
her voice a lone star

~

In the darkness
my fingers draw her face,
house of solitude and fog
and lone stars
in her cheeks weaving
the nest of poetry.

~

Over the abyss of night
my voice travels to you,
a chariot of stars
scattering my heartbeats
in trails of burning dust.

Free Verse # 343 (once again I touch you)

Kiss her
because in your heart
an overpowering urge
burns wider than the sky,
flows deeper than the sea.

~

Touched by her fragrance
night a burning sea
consuming all sighs
of lust and poetry

~

The fragrance
of our meeting hearts
will be the ocean’s poetry

~

She wore his fragrance for a wreath of light and poetry.

~

Once again I touch you
with a heart
filled with the emptiness
of the boundless night,
each star on your shore
a timeless poème.

Letter, January 17, 2016

We drank wine and tea, wrote our hearts as poetry, and spent the winter sleeping together, making love as the snow erased the world outside, muffling everything into a pure white. Under the cover of snow the house slept while inside our bodies shivering against each other flickered like a tender flame, burned a fire of unimaginable intimacy and warmth. Inside we melted into a soft glowing river as on the house and all around snow kept piling, erasing, muffling, knitting everything into a blanket of exquisite white. The world faded and forgot us, let us slip away as we, that winter, covered by the snow, became heart and warmth, the internal hearth that sustains the flesh of the earth.