Sometimes I call out
like a mariner waking from a dream.
The world a beautiful sea,
every dust mote a word,
the sound of a bell,
a memory composed of loving someone.
There is a hum inside the air
that never leaves.
Poems written in the rocks,
and from nothing
stars pouring like snow,
like butterflies looking for gardens.
When this happens I hold my breath,
as if I’ll vanish,
become rain,
leave an absence on my pillow
and hear a voice calling,
where are you?
Where have you gone?
Then I slowly breathe again,
telling the dream, not now,
not ever if my darling is sad,
and my heart breaking
not to kiss her sadness away.