An elegant attraction for a poet’s distinctive eye. Fermented fire, lay dormant. Until we germinated new patterns. I called it ‘Art’. You called it ‘Love and Sex’, bundled in two island dreams. Both are enough for me.
Each day a tune of non-being. Not of death or summers collapse. But to stand above those high floating birds. And watch the insects run and run. My life mirrored in the days glory.
Sometimes when the day comes on. The sails unfurl, towards the great, unfathomable sea. This time I will clamber on, gliding out beyond the sticks. Towards that blue craft, we have named ours.
Summer has come. The white light of the Wei River, in my body. But I must return to the deep mountains. And begin again to speak of poetry. Listening to the rainfall, with my eyes closed. This is the way, I have experienced within.
Dreaming of carefree music, the body vanishes to the foothills and the peaks. The wind changing direction, as it pleases. And nobody tries to hide from love. Today, I pick up a shining June, and begin a new journey. As if I were in the skies, watching clots of light go by.
I remember going out there. On a plane, a train and a boat. So far off, yet close enough to pin down the sea’s edge. There I met you. The body of the devine, and no weight of the sacred. Longing to slice love into two pieces, we rode the wall of death- over and over again. Soaked by ravenous water, we rose above everything. And our souls slept like nocturnal flowers. In the midst of the abandoned sky.
Words create worlds. As if nothing was born. Or maybe we start again. In a while, I revert to being a sky. How fondly I will reminisce. About my bones, my words. And you…… Like birds returning to deep forests. Everything is alive. And I will love the sun. And I will love the moon. And I will love the flowers. And I will love you.
Across these streets lie the footprints of my soul. Loving and enraged, but always wearing your words. And as I tiptoe around the shells of lost dreams. I see you black eyes, and full lips waiting for me. Not even a solitary bird, can pass between us.
Morning came quite, with sweet music on the breeze. There are places that are lonely, and do not make a sound. But this, is not one of those places. We lived with a soul and skin to the bone. And every single moment, was a wide starlight. Without any other context.
My white face fades. Turning pink under a summer sun. Some praise my perseverance. Others, never move – even if the earth and sky shake. But pen in hand, I shall not scream. Just grasp the light tones, and move on.
A Wandering Poet 