This is the heart of melancholy

A tender seasonal gust of leaves
Scoops my dreams up
And rush them through the ajar window.
A fine-toothed comb
Brushes through my knotted thoughts.
It is as though the morning is left
Sitting, half asleep, out there
On one of the distant isles with nothing
But a lighthouse to keep it
From leaning back into the darkness
Of the pre-autumnal night.
This is the heart of melancholy;
A wistful longing, a vague memory of safe harbor,
Scraped away by the rawness of beautiful sunny days.
A dream with one leg rooted in summer pasture
And one leg winged by the mystery of night.

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Drifting soundlessly

My shadow looks like an anchor
Bobbing nonchalantly on
Green-blue waves,
Drifting soundlessly towards
The deep endless sea
as the sun burns out.

Early summer morning

Early summer morning,
Young sunrise above the sea.
Where his shadow falls
Over the grass I plant my life
Like a cluster of moss
Afloat on wind-stirred sea,
Flushing without roots,
Weirdly softening when the edges
Of his silhouette leans against
My empty handed longing.

Like the sea

Like the sea:
A distant cry
Deep in my land-bound heart.
Like the wind:
through sea grass
Swaying in the blue fog
Of years gone by.
You danced
through frail memories:
A spring twig in the hands
of a wood cutter
Or a white stream of aurora
Twisting defenselessly
In the currents of the Milky Way.
You were left naked among stars,
Thorns of light like hoarfrost
Piercing the blue foliage of sea,
Making the sun bleed out
In the silence of farewelling screams.
In all this, the madness of the heart,
You were the beached ice berg
Shining green with coral rivers
Crazed,deeply,
Inside me.