leaf and her form

i have no poetry for the echo of the real, the form of it and itself. what can be loveif not a leaf, but also the shadow of the leaf that was found beside herself one day?this fallen thingthat came to resthere and placed her essence nearby, thus leaving her slightly removed. that love in her variousnatures is the thing sensed - by smell or touch or sound or taste or seen...

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delightful

remove yourselves, friends; take yourselves out of the hall and pack up the remnants of the day in the echoing wake of all those condolences. bind the bouquets with the bunting of all your will, pocket them as you leave through the door and place them somewhere at home. discard the starched shirts and the pleated dresses; hamper the clothes worn in the mists of sorrow...

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come: happiness to her

come: laughter           and warmth           and peace           and serenity              depth           and calm           (to hug) come: family           and kids    ...

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still thinking

she said:      colorful, adventurous! and:      abandoned, forgotten! and:      waiting.... then she went quiet as clouds before:      still thinking... i would play with my toys the same manner in which thunder storms played with the fears of dogs. nothing escaped my incessant desire to see what could be turned...

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