“Floating Villages” Wednesday Poem

You were the  first shadow.
The omen 
unleashing
a slow destruction of angels.
With a cord that ties the contrary winds. 

“Ownerless Papers Live in Parks”

In the deep illuminated verb of color that would shape praise
of fire and of wind 
where we go from flight to flight 
higher than light,  we would be like birds,
we would be apparitions. 

“Soul Necklaces” – Wednesday poem 2021

Shade by shade
January fades in my hair,
where black day is a water star,
its illumination has the wings of air
and it does not weigh on the walls as
the face of night looks in my window. 

“The Arch” Wednesday Poem

Memories stoke the fire inside our dreams, 
and make them run throughout the body
as they meet the silent arch.
Where something bends as it breathes with
pure music in a minute of the superficial melody. 

“Now Seen From Afar” Wednesday Poem

What unlearned pain will we look for
in the street that once possessed joy? 
  
Will it come to sit with us 
at the coffee table in the dark of a cafe in dry winter?
  
What unknown steps will take us to new beginnings, 
to the station that we have seen prepared before us?
  
What landscapes are read in a verse? 
Which will be indispensable at night? 
Like a certain smile that goes from one side of the lips to the other. 

“Movement of You” Wednesday Poem on Thursday

I open the cage of sinister birds,
so that may I prefigure the safety of me.
  
I commit my time in this as my fire of channels,
like my confusion of heights and ages,
because they’re impenetrable and misunderstood.
  
And the one only thing I hear in a low voice is 
the movement of you. 

“Archaism” Wednesday Poem

Submerged within God in the middle of shadows 
with the devil in the middle of the light
as they have coexisted for a long time. 
Under tall buildings and along bridges 
where sound cuts between the time of something,
and the invisible of nowhere.
  
 

“I Turn My Eyes Away” A Poem for Thursday

At the foot of the cool night
of great abstractions and 
the low worlds of spherical calculation, 
trembling between the sane and the unusual,  
time is an interchangeable introspection,
where everything seems still, 
yet is separate. 

“Our Postponement” Wednesday Poem on Thursday

On the eve of the night
with a hug that’s irreparable.
His lanky hand‘s accommodating,
silently we know what splendid disorder is,
we know rigorous annoyance
and our postponement’s never specified.

“Lost Windows” Wednesday Poem

My only open window
comes out humming
songs of months already lost.
And only opens windows
that look out on pedestrians.
As I turn my gaze half hidden toward the sun.