If birds can talk
Like on my other days
I perched that morning
On a flowering fennel along the river.
I saw you coming towards me, holding
In your left hand a walking stick,
A camera in your right hand
I waited for you to get close
Close enough to take my picture
Before I flew away.
Like on your many other days
You might not notice or remember
The little things, good things
You could do
the mountain’s affection for the sunflower field
radical, abstract, abundant
folding laundry, looking at each other’s eyes
Sometimes we walk in a painted drama
Or a recited poetry
Not hurried or loud
Like a leaf falling on a stream
There are things we don’t understand like shuffling papers
Or how we fold an umbrella after the rain
And we smile
We continue our walk doing crossword puzzles inside our heads
That’s how we miss dogs sleeping under the tree
One of us steps on his tail.
Where can light hide if it wants to hide?
Changing our names is like moving away, hiding or flirting.
Our eyes catch the light
Showering over a leaf
Like a prayer
Light has no tail or face
But a field, of attractions
A woman rises at dawn
An undulating line with three points
above and before the line’s endpoint.
Abstract inside reality
Reality arising from the abstract
Crisscrossing lines and several daubs of blue and red
Circles ascending and descending.
She rises at dawn
Pick some apples from under the tree
Art is simplicity, simplicity is art
You come sweet little bird, greet
Us this morning, good tidings, a spirit
To light our souls, to see
The essence in every moment
Days when flowers bloom
Or nights when glasses are broken
When strength rises from suffering
When hope remains during uncertainties.
May be the path has more leaves now
Than when we passed by the day before
Your mind is somewhere else since your friend left
You are not paying attention.
But you still return to the river to fish.
Can you inhibit uncertainty?
Have you notice myriad of butterflies or bees lately?
Perhaps not. Are you curious?
Flowers are blooming in the sun.
Where are they?