Losing June

By morning I have renamed us.

Thrumming wings take flight

 through crimson wounds

you have christened with your hands,

 a forgiveness I can believe in.

I’ve etched your voice in my memory

to not forget the glossy sound

of humming wings when you speak.

In dreams crystal eyes orbit above me,

brilliant satellites,

so that I may sleep free of shadows.

I’ve pared us down to dark and light,

forgotten all I knew of love and when

I try to speak my words catch

at the cache of my throat. 

Image

“The Embrace” by Gustav Klimt

By The River

Remember the cabin among the trees hidden like rabbits in nests of autumn leaves?  Beside the window that looks out on the river there is a writer’s desk  with printer’s ink and fresh flowers kissed by the sun in the window sill.
Do you recall the peaceful days we shared  among the redwoods that spoke to us?  The memory evokes such nostalgia for that ache, that fierce crushing devotion. I left a heart shaped basket of seeds in the arch of a tree for the birds to scatter, then etched our names on its bark.  I will always  remember you and the cabin by the river,  the sultry nights I would dance for you, sheer layers floating  to the herringbone floor.

GoGreen Roulotte | Canopy & Stars

chimera

You want her to be real
A half smile curve of lips
a glide of a hand through hair

the click of heels on a marble floor
You want to be her clothes
falling  softly about her feet 
that have formed the shape of wings 

and when she arches her back
she soars as high as chimera can fly.

Luigi Quarti

art by Luigi Quarti “fallen angel”

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while I was thinking of you -während ich an dich dachte

My words are

flames meant to melt the

frozen chalice that is your heart.

In the  white night across the continents

we feel but never touch.

Too sacred for light we set the night on fire

Profane infinity too flawed to alter fate.

While I was  thinking of you a fledgling

fell to earth

swooped up by the wind  on her

passage to life

red head on a bench

während ich an dich dachte

Manchmal fühle ich meine Worte
als lodernde Flamme, die schmilzt
den Kelch deines goldenen Herzens.
Geborgenheit liegt in der Stille, wenn
wir die Kontinente durchqueren.
Wir fühlen uns, doch berühren uns nicht, lassen den Mond
uns verschlingen, setzen die Nacht in Brand, zu heilig fürs Licht.
In deiner Gegenwart bin ich weltlich am heiligen Himmel,
eine Blasphemie aus Fehlern, zu gering, das Schicksal zu ändern.
Während ich an dich dachte, fiel ein junger Vogel
nieder auf die Erde, Wind rettete ihn auf dem
Weg ins Leben.

(Deutsch von Hutschi)

wolves

Between sleep and wake

traversing birth and death

there is the faint hint of earthy

candles.

Macabre dreams scattered like

strophes of sonnets

sensations of pearls spilling

like tiny moons through open fingers.

At the boundary I find you

not spirit or  rose tinged snow

but flesh and bone and sinew.

I am sleeping less now

roused by the wing beats of boreal owls

circling an  ancient Cypress,

their knife edge talons entwined in

webs of moss clinging to  knotty limbs.

Fitful gusts burst through

barriers of creaking walls vibrate

my hemispheres.

A  celestial  tapestry of recollection

lifts  me over  the valley to a  moonlit

hillside of sweet lea where a silver

wolf lies   beside me.

He is the scent of golden wheat and

his eyes are the color of the eastern sky.

we had wings

Then , wisdom grew from fruit

We were winged and freedom

was etched on the soles of our feet

We knew nurturing green earth

and deep blue ocean fed skies

The pathways of earth and heaven

were known not charted

We stepped naked into the blazing sun

bared ourselves to golden rivers and

awesome tidal thunder

scattered like stardust

art by Wysocki

Mock Lullaby

Deep as the Mariana Trench

The finest opus of Nightingales

A paradise where birds

sip nectar from petals that

unfurl just for you

Let me leave my mark

Roses beneath the snow

Lovers

Caught in a mock sinners lullaby

Pexel.com

Temple Bell

Your eyes are the crescent

of a silver bay that circles my mind

in the deep mystery of sleep

your voice an invocation of bells

that once rung cannot be undone

in dreams I am your dancer

beckoned by your call

a charm on a well cut cuff

a link on a diamond encrusted chain.

Shadow Art Print featuring the photograph Portrait of a beautiful woman dancing by Noelia Ramon - TellingLife

“The Dancing Girl” by Noelie Ramon

Song of Seasons

Hold me in  fleeting hours

while we are beautiful and wild

winged creatures of the night

sipping honeysuckle vines

sustained by the sun and rain.

Stay  when summer departs and

butterflies flit at teardrops pooled in

the corner of my eyes.

Lie down with me in winter when

hoar frost coats the rose buds

and  blue birds cease  their song

tiny skeletons of  hollow bone

indifferent to the cold

These lips are   petals

reminders  of lost flowers

If  you do not return

but fly on  to distant gardens

my body will seek shelter

beneath the feathers of

tongueless birds.

Translation by Bernd @ neues vom Hutschi

Halt mich fest in flüchtigen Stunden den schönen und wilden, unser Fleisch ist voll und reif, geflügelte Wesen saugen die Nacht auf, Jelängerjelieber, die von Sonne und den Regen gespeiste. Bleib, wenn der Sommer vergeht und der Garten vom Lächeln nippt, das aus der Iris deiner Augen blitzt. Lieg bei mir im Winter, wenn die Vögel zu singen einhalten, winzige Skelette aus hohlen Knochen, gleichgültig der Kälte gegenüber. Für dich sind meine Lippen Blütenblätter, süße Erinnerungen an verlorene Blumen. Wenn du nicht zurückkehrst sondern weiterfliegs, wird mein Körper Schutz suchen unter den Flügeln zungenloser Vögel. translated by Bernd Huschenreuther

canadianbeauty

art by Steve Hanks

Breathing air

When I am near you I become a  glimmering

  chimera of mirrors tempered of shell and sand

a cascading niagara plunging into deep pools of desire

where I am so afraid to fall.  

Powerless to hold back I  immerse in the irides  of your  eyes

as speechless as  tongueless    birds.

The current of tides tangles you in the succulent

mirage of my eyelashes. You and I are more than

the wispy smoke of clouds or an epoch of bones

but the breathing air of lovers rushing through veins  

as gentle or fierce as the press of your thigh on mine.