A Thanksgiver's Note

I breathe you thanks

You take your steps out 

of my golden circle

of dares

and whisper

sweet, parting words

my hopes
stay round only to spread

an improvised oath

on your proud sole marks.

Together

we learned to be one

with the seashore,

the seashells’ pearls

secretly swallowed
by lunar tides

and listened to the inner echoes

aligning our touch.
To be here

we had to play hide-and-seek

with the thorns’ roses

and build beautiful bridges

from scratch.

A single verse or two

will do from this day on

So, thank you.

I will say it back, 
till I become the echo.

Thank you

not for the daily bread,

but for the thirsty blades

of grass

kissing my fingertips,

Thank you 
not for the singing voice

in my dream,

but for the songs that last.

Thank you.

It's been even more love

than I thought I’d recognize

more splendor and more tenderness

than where I come from
or we could afford.

An abundance of November rain

is rightfully expected

to inhale the wheat grains

turned into dust

by raging sand storms

while a gentle breeze

is equally willing to exhale
its spiraling evergreens

above the dark vaults.

From now on, 

whether sitting or standing

on the same river bank

this flowing soul

will follow its course

and you will be thanked.

Aurora Borealis

New deities

of dawn

are being grown

inside us

while

unshed blood

is rolling

like fluid dice,

steaming

and screaming

its raging vows

like solid bombshells of light,
unleashed,
proclaiming

the sun will come.

Silk strings of silence,

untouched,

an iron curtain

drawn, at last,

to fully cover
the holy heartaches

running too quiet
whose dying whisper
cries "the sun will shine".

Wild tempers,

a peacefully magnetic storm
of torn up letters

and ice songs
dropped
on frozen grounds
for all those

drunk on white wine,
building a window
on every wall
only to prove

there will be light.