You cannot tame the night

You cannot tame the night
Even with the mild summer wind.
If you Season your heart
With sea salt;
With the bitterness of soil,
It will still stick to your rubber soles,
Lining every fold in your skin.
Obstinately, you can rattle
Its freedom –
Drifting among birch and maple,
Leafing through light saber hollows,
And whittling shadows into horrors.
But you cannot freeze the wings
Of life and death with your fear,
The night is like a wild animal:
A spring morning hiding in the fog,
A sharp north wind watering in your eyes –
It will come to you like a friend
When you stop chasing it
With your nets and chains,
Flashlights and hooks.

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Where you hide your words

In leafy shadows
Where you hide your words
From the sun –
Evasive like the feathers of sparrows
In snow-winds,
Without knowing how a mute
Tender moon climbs into your eyes.
There is the hollow red blood
Of dying autumn –
An imploded loneliness
Where I sense you:
Your heart muscles and your
Stiff forest of nerves.
Your stone cold words
Hesitantly screaming
In vein for something
That was always yours:
My forgiveness.

The Wild Self

Behind the veil of your skin
Is the atmosphere of the past:
A laughing brook shaping
Grey hard rocks with
Childish giggles,
Torrents of rain on a leaning
Autumn canopy making
Leaves swim in nutritious graves.
And when night is coming
What will you do?
Will you wish upon burning
Meteors made into dust
By our home’s feverish skin?
Or will you cast aside the veil
And meet your wild self
Staring back at you
With softer eyes
You forgot were your own?

We are rivers

We are all rivers cascading
From different peaks.
I see you running
Towards the ocean,
Tumbling in between rocks.
But above you, where you
Refuse to look,
There is a pale, but determined
Sun.
And when I see your
Foaming raging breath,
There are colors
In every angry tear,
Transforming even your screams
Into something beautiful.

The Dream of tomorrow

Of all the gifts of grace
Nothing is as precious as longing.
We see it in the meeting
of sky and hoarfrost:
A white-haired aerial world
Fighting the elaborate rules of time.
Or in the quiet of the night sea
Without a single light to reflect.
We see it in the singing hazels
Bleeding into sleeping clouds,
And in the waning sun’s burgundy
Burning the past in its hand.
But most of all we see it in people,
Walking side by side,
Young and growing, old and leaning,
Always haloed by the dream of tomorrow.