I believe in God,
I believe in goodness,
I believe in keeping this world alive.
A child’s laughter,
Spring days and snowball throwing afternoons.
Kittens playing and puppies chasing their tails.
I believe in kind words and a helping hand when needed.
I believe it can be peaceful, if, we try.
You were the first shadow.
a slow destruction of angels.
With a cord that ties the contrary winds.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.