Translucent

 
Can a sea soothe my chest,
And for life, wave your bed,
Just to echo you,
And in that shell that you are, sound.

A pain may well up in the skin,
In a designated endless autumn.

Can I-sea, shore or wind,
Contain the sun in the grains,
Or the whole moon will be black and dense.

Can I garden for inventing.

Can I poem for rhyming,
words to wear.

The time they enclose in themselves
beyond what it takes to say them
even in all your pauses.

The feelings they contain
far beyond your lyrics
between nesting spaces.

How much is it just to think of you,
how much is just for (not) knowing you,
how much of silence is not presence...

The (always) empty and inert dish,
the floor that does not creak.

I like the dimension of my longing.

this speed up
in this serene-indolent,

this stagnate
in this demented run,

Simply wanting your smile...

I would like you to read the real dimension
of the words of my longing.

I am unable.
I no longer follow.
I go blind.


PAR