Free Verse # 383 (her poem stepped into my eyes)

I looked at her
and the wind breezed,
and my heart
like a shivering leaf
was carried
far beyond the silent hills.


The wind blows,
the thunder claps,
my hand
into the dark reaches
searching for your hand,
and my mouth for yours
like a wound
for its healing balm.


One winter morning
you look out the window
and snow covers
just like that,
sometime in the night
your poem touched my cheek,
now, at morn, looking out the window,
your breath covers everything.


Her poem
stepped into my eyes
and closed the door,
ever since
I could only see
through her veil of light.


My breath
a river of mist and fog
circling her neck,
its dew falling thick
lacing her white hills,
her breasts, belly, and back
all soaked with the shiver
of poetry…


In the shadow
of the poem
let us surrender breath
and rise again in spring,
two rose-trees
from a single stem.


How do I write?
I feel your hand
on my chest,
over my heart,
and writing happens.


Howling winds outside,
on my table
a candle flickers
by a dreaming book,
her hovering breath
in the air drips –
the ambrosia of silence.


The sound
my poem makes
when touched by her breath…
in the silence of the night
a candle praying


At dawn
my breath is a butterfly
from flower to flower
searching for her mouth

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