bad day

You ask me how I am.
I answer fine.
When the wind blows
I blow too.
It's because I am me,
me.
You notice a bit of frustration
in my voice.
I confirm.
Aren't we always confirming
or denying something?
I don't know.
Maybe.

The stories

I follow my bonds
to the river's echoes--

sitting on this rock
I look like the moon,

glittering, hungry
for more stories of when

everything was good,
cosy, like summer

breath in my ear.
--Tell me another,
and another.

The birds are migrating.
The storms have arrived
--run.

I was the rabbit
peek-a-booing behind a shrub,
waiting to come out
of the dark.

reflections

on rereading words
I've written on scraps
of paper, I fall in
a trance-like
state of non-being
it's because they're written
with the oxygen
I breathe when I'm half
smiling, half dreaming
half pain, half joy
the usual stroll
through the physical
abstractness of trying
to fit the pieces
of existence in a hole
and wanting
to take pictures of myself
inside looking out
as if I were the stranger
staring back
we talk about the day's
sunrise, how surreal it
all seems, how the imaginary
is too real to grasp
and then we part
in the usual way

And here

In the middle of a fantasy
we discover we're growing old together.

Loneliness is a kiss under silent skies.
Let's play a game of glances

in silence. I will write my glances
on a flower's shadow.

Tickle me here. I am your Mona Lisa,
dismantle my selfish smile into

tiny rainbows, a glass of starry nights,
an exhibit of mystery.

Two stars converse with a takahe bird.
The bird's decayed feathers smell of dreams.

The stars show off their mystery.
I'm naturally lonely. I can't help

being affected by the stars.
Draw me a royal lily in clear water,

a peyote in white sand,
a rose on my lips.

Look up and fly, I say.
Everything turns black and white

and then back to colour, to fantasy.
Strong red table wine, candlelight,

moonlight, black olives, aioli bread
crostini, my spicy tongue.

Years of warm

Don't worry about where you're going;
we can't undo what has been done,
because love is love,
desire a chain of fleeting moments.
I hear my Nonna talk,
telling me to touch the breath
of life before we're gone,
each one of us. "This is me,"
I repeat, "me, Maria."

eyes and

evolution is part of my soul-
ful destiny to poeticized
shores etc
tomorrow
what will I say?

new poem

you must know
I have no time for you
please forgive me

you hold me so tight
as if I were your princess

crawling
all over your white diamond
paper screen

my sleepy eyes:
pastel colour
paths of the mind

the meanings of stories

in the woods
I search for a poem
we start playing
and dancing
all sorts of things
follow me

it's winter
but the trees look like
pictures of autumn
the snow tastes
like cotton candy
or honey
near the stream
the snow is black

I go on
forget about white
black water
I'm in the wrong story

this was the way
but I got lost
the snow melted
before I found
the chocolate house
the wolf was already dead

the little creature
in the background
ignored me
I started to say something
and then it got dark
so soon

what's in a name

there would be so many things to do
besides wandering inside the life of a poem
honesty isn't all you have left

I want to dream
I want to be
feel

talk to me
sing to me
wake up

the morning sunshine
is making fun of my poem
but in a good way

a ribbon
of dreams

from work

instead of a garage sale
I offer a poetry sale
imagine all the poems you've ever written
marching in a row
down the isles
of some dream-like building
somewhere

I love them all
they love me
and we sometimes stop
hug each other

feelings are:
a tear
a tear and a sip of dreams
dreams and a cup full of tears
a cup of tea with lemon
a sleepless night

I'm on my way home
in the snow

Kurdish fables retold

I love you
the toad said
to the princess
the fables
of life
are what I have left
can you jump into
the stream
and swim with me

I love life
murmurred the toad
no one can strike me
here in this ocean

no one can destroy my desire
to love - it's what I have left