That My Poem Was Sin

Do not say that my poem was sin
when I leave behind for you my paradise
While you leave me a shelter
in the heart of hell.

So much for Us, this drunk passion
What does it matter if you lose paradise
And I have no shelter at all

When in the night the moon still dances
across the sky and is extinguished
While you and I sleep with unfulfilled desire
I hold against mine the moonlight’s body
A soft night air has already given me thousands of kisses

And, I have kissed the sun more than a thousand times
from this jail where you are the jailer sans key
making my shame a memoried honor, and I know
that God will forgive me because I always spread my wings
under  the clear sky beneath the poem

If you would let me fly higher
I would drink at the fountain in the garden
of the poem that takes me away
from my existence of dark verses.




His name is a morning prayer
on my lips each day at dawn
His, the only garden I will disrobe in

His vast forest that is sweeter than Eden
His eyes, a most beautiful garden;

I am the white branch of hawthorn
clinging to a small golden door
listening, waiting for his
distant voice and song like the
blue murmer of fountains in summer

Everywhere I look, from the earth
to the sky I see nothing but his Sun
above me, around me, shining and
dipping over the soft contours
of my body as I lay quiet

Nothing but ecstasy remains to me
this sweetness sweeter than any
perfumed cry emanating from
any liptstick kiss I have ever given

In this garden of Him, I dream of him;
closed and sacred, I am just a soul
inside a dream He has created from
his memory of a dream about a night
a dream from a thousand years ago


Beautiful first morning of the world. 

Beautiful first morning of the world.
Everything is still confused, everything
is mixed in, Shivers of leaves, songs of birds;
their sliding wings, rapid murmurs;
voice in song, and yet the silence,
my eyes opening to his brightness,
the softness in his eyes

I am his young and divine Eve
awakening to my god and to his
world, as his hand extends to
to hold mine, a beautiful life
has been created from his kiss
on my lips as Eden falls asleep
and In the silence of a new dream.
voices are quiet, but all
are still listening, and
Everything is waiting to be born


[The poem is mine, inspired by this old German folk song]

Spring, Sweet Like a Stone..

Inmate by default, prisoner of beauty, of will,
Cells of life transparent but walled,
Delivered by innocent death, harmed by joy
alive In the open tomb of the earth,

of the the sea and air, Spring
Sweet like a stone, an angel, or a star.

Spring reborn by the deepest kiss of
of death and rebirth as one single grace
inflecting all paths to the curve of the earth..





In the shadow of creatures of war
in the twilight of appearances
alone at the edge of unknown snows
In the desire growing as the horizon
alone and the mysterious dawn
In it’s wonders but for whom?
In the Lunar pleasures of cold hearts
alone in swamps burned by comets




Related image


holding breathless as approaching the
evening of our World It is now
here that rising of the blessed race
the centuries fleeing the Time coming
In the memories of mysterious bosom
In the sleep of Being and returning
to the edge where sprouts Everything
The dawning of our origin








And when the day leaves on shaking…

And when the day leaves on shaking
waves going to die inside the
trembling  purples of gold
and when the morning wakes to
changing greens fleeing off  into
velvety distance and
when sinking my heart into my
prayers my soul inside my cold stare
my sight does turn and capture
forever the enchanted memoried
worlds where my people are born