Free Verse # 379 (the face I loved before I was born)

Silent moon
passing over the hills
and I am here
in the poem’s abyss
writing your breath
a quilt of flowers
covering the silent earth.


So I think of you
in the moonlight at dawn
and I am a poem
full of remembrance
of the face I loved
before I was born.


Liminal light at dawn
and I swear
with the fingertips of poetry
I can touch your face
made of holy white.


For eons I could wait for you,
the moon will be the moon,
and your breath will be the womb
in which I live and write.


When I can’t sleep
I hold your hand in my hand
and fervently write
with your breath for a pen.


Her buoying breath,
the incense of honey
burning on the altar
of moonlight at dawn.


Alone in my poetry,
a moon weaving his verse
on the other side of silence
waiting for you.


Night is suddenly
filled with shadows
all falling from her hair.


The moon moves closer,
her breasts overfull
with the lure
of immemorial centuries,
the starlight in my poem quivers
reducing my soul
to a shining white.



Clad in fog we vanished
into the mystic mountain of union,
inseparable we rose again
breathing open
wide as the sky.


I live in anticipation
of your next breath
that will come
like an autumn leaf
to rest against my cheek,
that will come
like a summer breeze
to wrap my neck.


I am a worshiper
in the house of mercy,
with the mesh of your pen
drain my blood
then write me in the sky,
with the wick of your candle
drain my tears
then light the dark night.


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