Haiku # 668

Hospital corridors…
her eyes the only flower
amid the white walls

~

Cold winter sky,
to the crescent moon, I say –
my heart is lonesome too

~

You who never comes,
you who are always here,
I love you with all my heart.

~

Tu me manques
toi que j’ai perdu
au début de ma vie

~

Poète…
chaque jour né
du feu de son cœur

~

Poet…
each day born
from the fire of his heart

Tanka # 192

On my table at night
from amid the pages of my book
a crackling sound rises;
a fireplace burning
with the ink of longing.

~

Her breath
a flower
unfolding its petals
inside the womb
of his touch

~

The fog is rising;
with dew on my clothes
I keep walking,
following the path
wherever it would go…

Free Verse # 415 (in the layers of poetry)

Her body is the place I come to when I long to remember, when I long to forget. Her body is the image at its fountainhead — the soul embodied.

~

The image of her hands
comes at night,
the burning wings
of a fluttering moth,
a candle’s breath
dreaming.

~

Sedimented
in the layers of poetry
the moonlight that once shun
on the shore as we kissed,
the frail scent of a basil
kissing your cheek at dawn.

~

Lovemaking is not unlike breadmaking, and when the bread rises there you have it.

~

The death
growing inside of me
shall one day blossom
and waft me like a sigh
over the sea of eternity

~

A te toucher je frissonne
comme les débuts du printemps,
comme un feu qui prend souffle
de l’intime corps de l’amour.

~

Silence descends
like a spring-shower;
in the openness I listen
to the voice of the One.

~

I’m disappearing in you again
like the tolling sound of a bell
in the fog of memories

~

Autumn night reading…
the birdsongs I follow
through the branches of words
always somehow lead
to a clearing in the forest
where I am one with you

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.

Prière de Minuit

La chandelle brûle,
sa flamme toute la nuit
chuchotant,
ses soupirs
des oiseaux de feu
imprégnant mon corps,
des souffle d’amours
prenant pour nid
l’océan de mon cœur,
île de soleil,
fontaine de lumière
coulant vers l’infini rive
de ses lèvres,
l’éternel azure
de ses yeux,
voulant en elle
devenir poème sacré,
rosée d’aube,
et pureté incarne.

Free Verse # 313 (singing the eternity of love and life)

In the gray of dawn
my heart tolls,
its chime rolling
through veils of mist,
and tolling it calls
my vanquished tears
in the breaking light
to unfurl like flowers.

~

In the sky of dawn
the poem awakens,
its wings of light
across the earth stretching,
shaking the stardust
from the drowsy eyes.

~

Silent star-flower
my touch on her skin
glowing through the night,
its burning nectar
across her hills flowing
in liquid wingbeats
of fiery wine.

~

My poem
a tree in the forest
awaiting the return
of your fire-birds
to dwell like stars
amid my branches
and sing the eternity
of love of life

On Gardening

Like water
through the soil
his hands into her
flowed
soaking her
to the bones,
uprooting
reviving
nurturing
seeding
pruning
grafting,
growing her
into a garden
burning with wild flowers,
an orchard heavy
with fruits of lust and joy,
birds of fire
circling her skin,
in her womb converging
to consume her whole.

To L

A Burning Flower

I plant you in my inmost garden
where each poem is a flower
sighing powdered lust,
fine grains burning slowly
craving to sink in the flesh of desire.

The water in your womb flows,
your pores, like crimson, swollen lips
exude erotic musk,
a wetness calling all the heat
to invade the depth of your rosy flesh,
and you inhale, hard and deep,
an air so dense it burns
in your throat and lungs,
seeping like liquid fire in your veins,
becoming yourself a burning flower
swaying to the music of my flute,
shivering with ecstasy at my tender touch.

Exhale now, my love…