I want to touch her

I want to touch her
with the reverence of a candle
for the stillness of the night,
with the awe of a saint
uttering the name of God,
with the longing of a birdsong
for the first light of dawn.

I want to touch her
with the ache for the rain
after a long season of drought,
with the sigh of a breaking bud
anticipating the air and light,
with the joy of burning incense
as it rises to the sky.

I want to touch her
as an oak seed taking root
on the mountain high,
as a stream of thawing snow
from cliff to cliff runs,
with the red lips of a poem
writing the history of mankind.

I want to touch her
like eternity blossoms
in the present moment,
like the breath of the seasons turns
with the endless wheel of time,
I want to touch her
and for this touch to be
my breath and life.


La femme que j’aime n’existe pas

La femme que j’aime n’existe pas
et pourtant je ne peux abandonner
ma recherche pour elle ;
et ça, cette recherche,
ce pèlerinage infini
qui va comme un cercle
tournant et tournant
au milieu du cœur de l’amour –
cette brulure, ce délire,
cette espérance futile mais inépuisable –
c’est le poème –
l’offrande de mon âme
dans le feu de son autel.

Du poème je suis…

Du poème
je suis ce qui lutte
à te toucher,
cette lumière
qui approfondit sa pureté
dans son désir
à fleurir dans ta peau ;
du poème
je suis ce silence
qui écoute
ton cœur battre
dans la chair du monde,
je suis cette voix
qui s’est perdue dans le vent
il y a des siècles
et qui cherche à jamais
à se dissoudre
dans l’intime de ton souffle.

Du poème
je suis cette attente
qui déchire mon cœur
et le remplit du silence
de ta voix.

Free Verse # 416 (all this poetry)

She is silent
and yet I whisper,
like the autumn winds
I whisper
into the silence
of her sky.

I populate her absence
with the breath of the tea I sip
and the scent of autumn leaves.


Front sur front,
nos yeux deux mers
coulant l’une dans l’autre,
no corps, deux rives
et entre nous
la rivière de l’éternité.


Your absence
like a burning candle
has melted away my body;
I am a sea of frozen ache
in the waiting nook of time.


A girl wearing
sunset for a body;
she is the dawn
the dew of poetry;
in the sway of her hips
the oceans move;
in the fragrance of her hair
the scent of autumn woods.


A flame as she dies
embraces the sky;
all this poetry
is a river
tugging me down
and deeper down
to the ocean
that is you.


In this world of wonder all I know is the beauty of your face.


If I could retain one word
and have my life turn within it
I’d choose the word “silence,”
because in it, there you are.