Free Verse # 413 (the diary of my travels)

My life — letters written to an imaginary lover, a lover who never comes, who is always here.


On the poem’s wings I rise to the clarity of her eyes.


My poems are the diary of my travels through the regions of her soul — a collection of leaves, flowers, teas, honeys,


Nowhere to go to,
no one to find,
this love I want
is in my heart.


Dans mon poème
elle s’est venue
chercher son ombre
qui s’est enfuit
dans l’abime des ténèbres


The winds of longing
racing in my chest
where the blooming flowers
sigh out your name


Your love touches me
and though a dewdrop I feel
the ocean in my heart


Her moan rising shapeless
over the sea of dawn,
kissing the sky and soaking
the earth in pebbled dew


the sigh of a candle,
I am travelling inside of you,
into your night,
your silence,
the expanse of that world
spinning behind your eyes.


Everywhere I go
I hear you,
a music
older than time
strumming the waves
of my soul.

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