I was playing
hide-and-seek
with God
when I came across you
hidden
in the dewy eyes
of God
himself
domingo
A WHITE POPPY...
A white poppy in a bridle path
(Once I glimpsed death: she had
the face of a white poppy by the sea).
A red carnation withering
among the pages of a Quasimodo's book
flicked through by the breeze:
red carnation conjured up by my words.
A full moon and a wolf
Both drinking
fresh water in my hand.
The moon had your voice,
Helen, your voice.
The wolf mine.
BETWEEN
Between the asphodels and the fresh sea breeze
between the March rain and a sunny spot
of anglers in the river
between the stone bench by my front door
and the fishy stench in the market
between the hut for weathered hunters
and the pub for daydreaming poets
between a snowed bridge and tangerines in the basket
between the wild horses and the train tunnel
between my alleyway and Wall Street
between the summer and the coldest heart
between the landscape and my aquarelle box
between the birds and that sickle moon:
there is just the distance
from your hand to mine.
SUNFLOWERS
Notwithstanding the universe
will perish into frozenness
you and I will die
in the shape of sunflowers
crestfallen but gleaming
like sea waves at dusk.
Two sunflowers
-one facing the other-
alone in a vast desert
or a city devastated
by plagues and famine.
Every year both tilting
getting closer and closer
until their Istrian yellow petals
touch each other at last
their pistils locked in
an everlasting hug
just in the moment
when they start to wilt.
