To hear the whistle of the wind,
woody aromas bring on oceanic scents
of the past,
I smell the dewdrops in the simple resort
middle of mountain ranges, far from the shore
from the waves.
Standing still in the courtyard’s
small path
as I view the streams flowing into the pond,
the bushes of roses strewn casually among
fresh grass,
Solace is found for a solitary soul.
In a valley’s dewy morning,
I find an island’s drowning sunset,
In a wife’s serene ending,
I realize a girl’s beginning,
with the pond reflecting Anglo-skies,
with those meadows reminded by the grass,
I feel forever stuck in the English breeze,
where once dwelled a lonely reverie.
As I view the pink flowers blur into the green,
I come back into that wistful dream,
a dream of torrents in a tranquil sea,
where I used to sail happy and free
because the simplicity of those words
reflect the calmness within.
It is calm under the waves
in the blue of my oblivion,
it is clamorous into the chamber
where voices echo infinitely.
I need to get out
To awake from the daymares
haunting nights with flashing daylight.
I need to be reminded.
To see the heterozygous petals
of rain-soaked roses, white streaks with red,,
To see floral blue sinking into the English Channel
But I remain still in the courtyard,
woody aromas bring on oceanic scents
of the Gulf of Mexico.
I have never been there,
but the foamy wavelets curled up to my feet, the touch of the sensuous sea,
enfolding the body in its soft embrace, I went on and on, thinking of
the cornflower meadows I traversed when I was a little child
believing that it had no beginning and no end. It did end,
Only to lead a tidal life of dreams and transformation,
let the undulations enrapture me, into cyan depths,
then arrive on shore a sullen girl, a solitary soul,
a cactus pigmented with eternal English blue,
then emerge an American sunset of a bloom
I sense the awakening.