Traces

The divide widens
as I nomad across long lost dreams
the distance steals your thought
oceans, only a calm stream remains.
and we smile.

How far do the dusks lie?
I want to sleep.
My eyes are worn out
forgetting you.
my fingers can’t feel the scorching sand.
or recall the cascading humidity of your lips.

How long before it rains?
before I lose my way back to you?
How many tides before I cannot recall how to forget you.

How many winds must slip out my fingers?
How many unattainings before I am lost to the sea.

How many lemongrass afternoons
Before I let it go
And remain hushed amidst
the whispers of wildflower moons.

An Ode to Nothingness

After relentless winters
and numbing spinning nights
with oblivion piled up man high
amidst half burnt fires
quietly burning away
from my eyes to your touch.

A song remains undone
like grey black brown shades of the earth
the earth that I walk on
the earth that envelops me
and a dream
that comes to me sometimes
with you.

Not with the rain
It is colder now,
neither with light.
the sun is too distant.
Why? I do not know. I do not ask.

The winds don’t come here anymore.
They do not bind me like the arms
of a hungry lover
maybe they have gone with you too.

And those who want to know where you are.
I tell them that you are with tomorrows
In sun and shadows playing
in the laughter of nights
in the flow of rivers.
Everywhere.

Only I cannot find you.

Tomorrow I shall tell them
that I have found nothing.
that exists
without you.
except me.
For you are not with me.

Maybe my pain and love and anger
Are too shallow and too moist
And you don’t want to live here.

Someday I know I will have you
In my song
blooming
But till then
I have hope and my silence.

For now

I know not what it must take
to water like eyelids
and a river to make time
straying and floating
in nameless moments.

Unnamed nomad waves
that ride on night’s wings
and flow into noiseless swamps
of everbrown lost earth.

That was walked upon
sometime by the spokes of
this spinning past
when the present was far off.
Yet and yet…
The night and
the day
all came upon
sudden
like the hurried crash of water
on unsure rocks
carrying pebbles and mud.

It was for nothing then that I dreamt
It is for nothing then that I dream
only a turning head and that is all.