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.
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
unshed blood
is rolling
like fluid dice,
and screaming
its raging vows
like solid bombshells of light,
the sun will come.
Silk strings of silence,
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
on frozen grounds
for all those
drunk on white wine,
building a window
on every wall
only to prove
there will be light.