I touch the timber
and smell my hands. Jacarandas...
Whose woods these are I cannot say,
Their laughter rings from far away...
A whisper in the breeze, a dance of golden light,
Informed me that the season past...
Wind blowing through trees
The instruments of nature...
It was religion.
The yellow viper will strike...
Your trajectory was
rising. People rode the stars...
A medieval smile
picks up the frozen pain...
Can you feel pulse
of a moment before it...
Defining hunger
I become metaphysical...
You always tried
to conceal the imperfect...
To the park, I saunter,
on a crisp autumn dawn...
Your alignment
with sea was not perfect. You...