I used to love the coming
together of us all by the sea
to love you, to celebrate you
and how much you matter to us.
You are old now and can no longer
go to the sea.
You sleep amongst the trees
instead, watching squirrels,
bushy-tailed and quick witted,
play in the evergreen branches.
We still come together though,
under your trees to love you,
to hold your branches and to
celebrate those squirrels
you love so much dancing
all over us to make you
smile.
The summer sea is a mirror
you dive into,
a coral mirage gushing
into rivers,
fleeing slowly into gardens
where carnations dream
of anemones dizzily
racing towards the surface
of the summer sea
where you kneel on a cliff
looking into
yourself.
Walking through the dark
basement with all those closed
doors is not something
you have to do on your own.
Yes, you are the one
who has to open the doors
and confront whatever
is lurking inside.
But it is perfectly okay
to have someone walking
next to you, holding your hand
and carrying the flashlight.
He reached for the light in the window,
you said, and went on his way onwards.
It made you pray, it made you cry,
it made you think onwards.
When it was you turn I felt you
walk through me.
I was sitting by the sea like always,
and there was no emptiness.
You simply walked into the light
onwards where I could still
reach you.
It was your time to reach for the light,
like him that went before you.
Him that you loved,
him that you prayed for.
I cried, of course, but there was no
emptiness.
You didn’t walk away from me,
you walked through me
and the light-tracks you left in me
remained like sparks reminding me
of how much you loved me,
how much you still love me
from somewhere
onwards.
I skip in your hop-scotch of shadows
one-two-three split
seconds before I fail and
land in the sun where you
cannot find me.
I am not a darkling dodging
dangers like balls of burning
meteors.
I let them set me on fire
arising phoenix-like to the
occasion.
I do not fear the ashes of
dreams, as long as there are no
gilded cages or sugarcane
bars.
We are all born for
destruction and beauty,
devastation and
beginnings.
This beautiful sun-angel appeared on my kitchen wall in the sunrise a morning a couple of days ago. It was only there for a few of seconds, but it made my day!
A mystic dives into the clear
summer sea through garlands
of seaweed he sees
a navel of eels
spiraling upwards.
He pauses his crafty strokes
and ponders the meaning of this.
The sun flashes through his
humming ears and sharks
pull at his sorcerer’s cape.
A word immerses his thoughts
and the pit is pulled from
underneath.
He drowns with the hungry
sharks until there is no more
of his mind to eat,
and is left to circumnavigate
the sun from the surface
under the deep,
reflecting the movements
of the upward swimming
eels.
