“A Dance” Napo April 18, 2019

A dragonfly trundles under the sun
breaking the moment of stillness,
burning the halt of its own sound
germinating the chrysalis.


“Embroidered in Memory” Napo April 17, 2019

An image is silent in water,
a silence that cannot revolt.
My fingers hold a golden thread with a swan
intertwining under the sun and flying.

“Pernicious Angels” Napo April 16, 2019

My widowhood is protected by the tree’s shadow,
I’m winter at one stroke
with my tree illuminated in the field.
Night and blood in tribute,
tree and night always illuminated in the field.

“Deadly Pupils Born without Day” Napo April 15, 2019

He wears a mourning
of broken vessels.
A revelation that never stops
into night without his fingerprints.
A bottomless voice denies displaced gods.
A stealthy recreation
in an invisible reality.

“Icons from Other Shores” Napo April 14, 2019

I’m stunned by
your sudden crying and difficult fetishes.
A nudity that travels only
by fingers with the color of light.
Your dreams within dreams
with arms that go along the road yet do not penetrate.

“A Nude Rose” Napo April 13, 2019

I went back to see
the shadows on the wall where
the dark ivy rises with the light.
I noticed amongst the leaves
a nude rose like a heart alone in the sun’s rays.

“Floating Villages” Napo April 11, 2019

You were my first shadow.
An omen.
The angel’s slow destruction,
a face with two faces,
howling contrary winds.

You were my last window,
the last eyes of fire’s light in a dirty night
sick with coughs throughout the streets.
You were yourself and doubled back like a spy.

“The Moment I Cannot Rebel” Napo April 10, 2019

There’s a nakedness in the world
with many unsatisfied wishes.
A memory that sticks in my eyes
and doesn’t let me see the clean air.
Sometimes I feel nailed on the table like a butterfly,
but the moment passes.
I know it’s too late for an objective dialogue.
No more speaking of pastels, places, and dresses.

“Teaching” Napo April 9, 2019

I call them “the little ones.”
They barely know their own language,
yet gradually they understand mine.
They amaze me.
The little ones love;
They’re all different
and as perfect as the universe has made them.

“Bistro in Sonata” Napo April 8, 2019

A glass of wine,
A bowl of risotto.
And our smiles of happiness.
I don’t want to miss these conversations again, Annie.