24 January 2016

In Front Of The Art Museum

Last night

I dreamt you were peddling books
In front of the art museum

Used books — although
In my estimation
A book,

Always with nuances between its covers
Can never be referred to
As being used

A book
Is not a woman used, used up

There you were,
Courteous behind your makeshift stall
Explaining to curious passersby
Art books poetry 
Psychology no longer in vogue
Things to rid

You had acquired new spectacles
Gold rimmed and stylish
To outfit your new outlook
Your new views

And you said to me: look I am flying

You flew onto the terracotta rooftops
And vaulted from crest to crest
Agile like a panther

My feet were rooted on the pavement
I was taking you in, every inch of you

There you were
On top of the world
Too adroit to ever fall

Or so you thought

05 January 2016


One by one words lifted off the page to stretch out in front of me

each word life, 
a heartbeat, 
and each heartbeat your whisper

In my dream they transformed into images.

reach a bit farther
appearing effortless to keep

... as the canvas I once fell in love its beauty cut just enough 
I allowed the pain to remember the grace

Freely, as brushing your forehead 

weightless kissing 

With my fingertips