phantosmia

it is night.
and your scent sweeps
invisible roses
along a thorn-covered
space.

does the wind speak
in veiled orient hope
behind pilgrim’s dunes,
ever mirage-clad?

slow soars
an abiding cloud.
its wings are bare
to a lulled
yet lush moonbeam.

love

i’m only an old sandstorm
dreaming an oasis dream.

(yelena 2014, Negev)

natsumi

she welcomes the warmest sun
writing strange messages
to the dovey wind from vineyards
never seen before.

maybe there’s always a summer
in her oaken veins,
so when cold seasons come
she secretly lights
little bonfires on the coast
to glorify its goldheart of heat.

she kisses the riot petals wet with dew
when dawns are clouded on the face
of a reverent mountain from his reveries
reaching for the savage ripeness
of raspberries and valley fields
his arms unveil with such ease.

she welcomes the warmest sun
to breathe

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natsumi (Jap.) – ‘summer beauty’

closer

a hand to hand
through bleak train
windows

moonprayers
in a dim
green willow
light

the whirl of sands
and north sun tears’
unwinded, spilling
from shadow to
our fragile shadows
as dawn was crumbling
into purple
healing stars

a calm collapse
that signed your name
along soft cloud-fabric
and lifted dust
off autumn oak leaves,
river-lined

torn maps
across the floor
and flooded walls
and ruined ceilings

and now us,
slow-dancing
in the burning room
forgotten
by our own memories

alive

.

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.

(yelena 2015)

burning

incense of piano dusk
melts
in a dragonfly daze
of wild water eyes
closed
to wintered bridges.
closer to sky, whole,
as too beautiful
is gentle light,
a zephyr whisper
across
and beyond
the raining soul.

calescent,
harmony stays
where verdant clouds
are heard
and hearted with
deeper forest sounds,
each instant
of the flight
torn
to be sutured.
scarred
to be starred
homewards, unbound.

how fragile,
the texture
of a flaming wind
when
the house of ache
returns
to smithereens
yet this..
is a way season
breathes anew:
a litany
of moon-painted
auroras
scaling
the firelit flow
of pale notes
in a quiet
submerged blue.

i won’t say a word.
yet when shy evenings
unfurl
again i’ll wither
into
the burning, You.

 

dreamweaver

 

~your words~
like a crescent of light
casting the silver sea
from nectar space
upon the deep-ached,
tidal earth
when the winds are
hauntingly tender
and a vessel of peace
unveils the visions
of a vagabond sorrow
and chrysalis mirth.

~your words~
like a whisper of heart
shaping a cherished nocturne
near the moongate
for the quiet opening
of secret garden doors
when the hope is
dreamfully purple
and a chalice of miracle
cascades ether serenades
along lavender fields
and barren shores.

~your words~
the softest essence
of lunar songs

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.

.

(for Martin, with gratitude for your light)

read his beautiful and soul-stirring poetry at My Dream Garden

a wish

 

i wish

to take away his pain
when he, fevered and fragile,
breaks through ghost letters
on ice-jailed windowpanes
that steal too many sighs of breath
and the haunting sky of past
lands on his shoulders.

i wish

to gentle his fall
the way snow soothes freezing air
when with winter-numb kisses
he wipes tears off weeping sky’s eyes
yet his soul is afloat
shaping a slow budding sun
from somber skin of nocturnes.

i wish

to be a tiny island’s summer
that doesn’t burn but warms and heals
with a touch of home he looks for
tracing remnants of valley stars
and aura of old back-alleys
along the realm of his misty soul.

 

 

(yelena 2015)

spring angels

the woods are dancing
softly to the skylit tunes
of daystar’s melodies.
the blue-hued world
is drifting
in the daze of myrtle scents
and sylvan whims.
i hear the song of elven rain,
a cradling pitter-patter
of a chambered shimmering,
and from afar
the flutter of
azure, lucent wings.

two splendid angels soar aglow
along the nascent season,
their eyes are vernal stars
and childhood dreams.
their hands attach
the scent of lilacs
to the wintered houses;
they write warm lights
on valleys, pathways, streets
illuminating every land
to welcome spring

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(for angel Susie and angel Linty, with gratitude)

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