Where the sun rise against the cold

Just like the days of my childhood
When the stream was too long
For darkness to fall,
Melancholy has lived in me,
With Its moss and grey rocks.
I’ve hurried slowly towards the peaks
Where the sun rise against the cold
And Nightshimmer drift on the kneeling hills.
Only to whisper loudly in the frail dark
Of longings and memories
That were not my own.


A long-legged echo of melancholy

The shadow of a tern
Flashes black over the sea,
The cross-shaped silhouette
Is visible only for a second
Before it disappears
Into the sunlit horizon
Leaving a long-legged echo
Of melancholy behind.

Burning golden in the sea

A sultry hum from a mountain sea,
A bleached sun rocking in shore-bound currents.
On the marshy bank a black swan is looking,
Meditatively, at its own shivering reflection,
Ashen wings burning golden in the sea
Like a fallen angel encountering its honesty.

Seeping through the shadowland

The soft sigh of the willows
Seep through the shadowland
Where weeping ferrymen
Steer their canoes through morning dew.
Wild ducks, with sea salted wings,
Migrate through dawn
Shedding golden leaves like syrup fingers
Attaching their palms to the ground.
Cuts in the night sky deepen and
Bleed honey onto the horizon
Herding nightbirds and dreaming children
Back home.


I swam through the forest
With sunshine in my hands
My thoughts nailed to trees
Like satin veils
Obscuring the world in lavender pale.
The waves brought me further
Into a field of wrecked sails
Where ropes were withered
By sea and salt.
Eventually I arrived to a shore
Where only the bodiless could port
And I threw my skinny tethers
And I was reborn.