The Passion

Turning away from the sun
mint irises
still grow by the lava…

It is too early
for the stars to yawn…

Shoulders
lean against my shoulders
that lean against your gates…

The silence hears nothing
at dawn…

 Behind the senses
the falls come…

Every season
my wisdom changes
like red spots on a trout…

I increase my devotion
to see your sense
growing the garden
and your hills
to be alone with my doubt…

Like a child,
love sleeps in my hands…

When I plant finest diamonds
my tears turn blue
yet my eyes stay clear…

And the time brings my oars
to the garden…

When sweet violets hurry to my smile
I need to smell the burning mint
in the air…

 On the patio
the wrench opens my silence-
The paper looks clean,
yet glasses today seem so dirty…

Somewhere in the fog
my shout gets lost-
When I approach the light,
my eyes blink-
When I reach it,
they open for eternity…

 Thin poems thicken
every time I stroll
And see strollers
inside the garden…

I am giving away
my choices
in the wheelbarrow
and polishing blue songs
to sculpt topaz passion
for the martins…

 I need to outlast the summer
so I can enter
a hard and bitter seed…

I need the seed to be
sewn inside the words…

My breath gets nailed on the cross
and for ages my breath
smells steel hammer-
The amethyst obelisk
misses the dusty birds…

I have to learn
which eye to keep open
and which one
to keep shut
while I still hide in some hazy cage…

What shape is the shadow
of the songs
that taste like childbirth…

What days come back
smelling like sage…

 Until midnight
the snoring is heard…

Dazed
I pass through your hair
and keep following your pain-free face…

As I draw in your hardship
and past
the desert
blows away my footsteps
so I could follow by faith

Akiane