* the existence of you *

All that I lost, I missed, and all that I’m missing.
But she is there, right on time.
In the stream of unlimited moments she is out there awaiting me to bump into.

What if I can’t see all her beauty,
What if it’s always not enough?

Any thing stimulates me; everything is about you.
Thirty-three autumns that past,
Last words of the three thousand years old sacred tree,
World that has yet to come,
Mysterious tingling. 

The tiny notes that remind me of the existence of a you.

(This work was partly done last October)

* Still Be *

It has been four hours,
nothing happened.
If the night falls it’s because it has no option but be
like there is nothing so certain at the end
but death;
certainty that we celebrate.
In the afternoon the solitude hurts me,
not you.

You are incapable
of hurting me anymore,
as you are gone,
to somewhere only you know.
Maybe your yurt,
Don’t tell me,
I can’t bear it.
I couldn’t see that coming,
but live it.
The world that I didn’t expect,
an empty one that I never thought of.
It has been eight months
passed without me noticing;
I was in the midst of torment,
and I’m still be.

* Still a broken heart *

Clouds depart, emptying.
Left on me deserted sky, vast vacancy,
Much sorrow under the brilliant sunlight,
As if it cares nothing.

Wind orchestrates,
Leaves whispering gossip,
Millions accounts of the life and death
Of things that cross our mind missing.

Much was lost, things I forget,
But not that haunting thought.
Reminding me that I,
Under the Sunday afternoon, still a broken heart.

* Left *

Your shade leaves that agitates my heart,
As though moonlight vanishes in that thin morning mist,
Into silence, you depart driftingly.

I sit up into a pitch of dark torment,
Forgot the length of time, weakened corps aches as if the deaf hears the cry,
A self floating.

Vast, void, antithesis of eternity,
Fear now sleeps in me, surrendered to night terror with my incapacity.
What an atrocity.

Yet you assert this is reality, as I 
Inhale the emptiness that permeate the uninhabitation. 
You left; “morning has been blackening.”

Robin egg blue
Wintery lentil soup
Inexperienced parenthood

Heart-pounding 
Forestry wedding
Your voice in our tiny kitchen

Ash tree seeds
Baker’s yeast
The irresistible moisture of your wee lips

I miss you,
And all those miscellaneous reminiscences,
My memory a daze, bygone is a future once might be reality.