| [Wearing her
humid air like damp perfume] Wearing her humid air
like damp perfume
dear Spring has certainly been here before. It is
so clear
that these heart tugs in sweet and transient
bloom
have roots that tap heart memories, year by year
The bud's debut
I can anticipate,
I know what will be born in Spring's rebirth,
in this brief swing of the revolving gate,
life blossoms, ripens, to return to earth.
Remembered joys
warm with familiar flame,
but love deprives the heart of simile,
the sweet chaos awakened by your name
unblinds my eyes that never dreamt to see.
The past's poor
candle pales before this light
soul kindling soul in love against the night
[letters,
like petals]
letters, like
petals,
close. I pluck words - she loves me?
not yet, not enough
Letter
to Li Po
I do not drink,
Li Po,
but if I did, it would be as you do,
to tip my head back and fill my eyes
with the all embracing sky.
To fill my ears
with that symphony of wine
that wordlessly accompanies all human sound
and harmonizes with the single honest drum beat,
as well as with the celebrated songs.
That turns all
sounds into
the poet's nightengale that makes us wonder
waking? dreaming? my song? your song?
is there a difference?
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