leanfingered

slenderhipped

ah hubris, hubris

what does the wind do to you

lot you care

and the night, bedding down

slipping into you easy

lady when there are stars

does it help?

Once more I will greet the sun,

the stream that flowed in me,

the clouds which were my long thoughts,

the painful growth of poplars in the garden

which pass through the dry seasons with me,

the flocks of crows

which brought me the smell of the night farms

as presents,

my mother who lived in the mirror

and was the image of my old age.

Once more I will greet the earth whose burning soul

is filled with the green seeds of my incessant passion.

I will come, I will come, I will come,

with my hair, the continuation of the smells of the undersoil,

with my eyes, as the dense experiences of darkness,

with the bushes I have picked in the wilderness beyond the wall

I will come, I will come, I will come

and the entrance will be filled with love

and at the entrance, once more, I will greet those who love

and the girl who is still standing there

at the threshold full of love.

We meet on streets to prolong the catwalk, to lengthen arrival so it aligns more

commensurately with its anticipation. A street of three blocks or more with enough

pedestrians to heighten awareness and to raise a few false hopes at a glimpse of a

similar coat or swing of hair. Now that you're here, turn at the next corner. Go back

to approach me again.