Yo sueño que regreso
un día cualquiera
to the pleasure of letting
the earth slip through my fingers
Yo vivo en permanente exilio
when I dream
I can only speak in tongues of desire
when I dream
of stretched bodies as my island
awaiting me
Yo puedo perderme en las prominencias
de tu cuerpo
in the sugar cane flavor of your tongue
in the dark cinnamon color of your gaze
Yo puedo perderme rozando tus riberas
like a wave
piérdase dentro de usted
Yo sólo sueño que regreso
I can only speak in the tongues of desire
en vuelo
from your body

what is tucked between entangled hair
and the moment somewhat marvelous
is the truth that there is nothing
between us except for us

the light can surely see us
as there is a hum
beating...a glow
but all one hears
is the sea
upon nearby rockiness
and voices
which chorus
through the floating nights
the sky...white
dashing with gleam
the moon melting...
through the horizon
where my vibrant mica star
glints your pearls
blissfully sweet

"...babae!"

“qué pasa?”
“einu sinni enn sólin skín, afturkoma...”
universo de universos,
la lumière luit dans the darkness
en medio del silencio profundo:
“khob, no ké resid bé bâzâr kohné shavad delâzâr” -
en la eternitad…
la luz, no pueden sofocarla,
se para la marea, y no saber adónde vamos…
«róba, pródajeteli ?» «né,dósta»;
et Parcae dixerunt saeculo: mahlip...
iau, atti, attunu, mamma, mala bašû -
esperad todavía

Under the Bo-tree
the Budd-ha-to-be
sought something
beyond opposites,
beyond thought
Talking about it,
even here, in the
holy tabernacle of verse,
is missing it.
Instead of turning away.
In the giving up,
between the giving up
and the engagé
his page will be
our distance
going blank
with all that
you seek.

Wings too divine
in air so cold its edges mark
winters end and springs first pulse.
In the poised crystal I fly silhouettes
that fold closed, then open,
now in prayer, now in possibility.

this...heart...just...knows

?...tis dis oan abut mi...?

run << from >> t e <<

c h a n * g o

run >> towards << n w >>

Consciousness is More Vast than Language
Greater than Your Personality
Love is a Key
To Your Power
And
Your Joy

We are pain and what cures pain, both.
We are the sweet cold water and the jar that pours.
I want to hold you close like a lute,
so that we can cry out with loving.
Would you rather throw stones at a mirror?
I am your mirror and here are the stones.

Rumi

this = love

I watched you
grow full of suspicions
making guesses weigh more
get too large
A forest of tall-grown illusions
each whispering their own stories.

Lost in the trees
Daphne, too, is not what he seems.
The birds that nest on his branches
never suspect that he
bark-covered
refused the love of a paradise
the love of a god.

You said
I sing you know
Oh, I know you sing
like a bird, I bet
but not for me
not to me
Then you walked away
toward the trees,
sprouting leaves.