Ice is the name of the night
 pale prints
stolen bookmarks
sugar cubes
and the rest of my questions
are melting slowly
in front of the electric heater

in another icy land
walks a wind
flowers in his pockets
and cozy poems
that begin with a kiss
my questions will be clouds
when spring
will be right around the corner

Dear friend
I have only one picture of you
the one with the lady boxer
which I had turned gray
has come to life
in metallic shades
of red, black
and all the white light
at the feet of a rust dream

a storm is coming
endless black days
rising with dust and darkness
wont you remember
orange afternoons
the diagonal shop
outside which the storm waited
inviting the  black.

Evidence

under your tea cup
i left my mark
while you wrote stories
about others
the stain never left
and you ceased to bother.

Letter 2- To Dream

.

Dear Dream

You have a new face

in a familiar frame

You have come back 

a hero

in empty wine bottles 

making rainbow at my sill

You have come

like a liar's scrapbook

and  Blek's rats 

are looking for it now

You are back

like the empty house

looking for a tenant

dealing with dust

and the month of May

Dear Dream

you are back again

i gathered more white

all this while

wake me now!

come, say, leave
it would be different
if you knew
i was deaf.

stay, look, love
it would be the same
if i knew
all the reasons

How Odd

From the first time I saw you
I have sown seeds each day
and connected
the dots our way.

From the last time I saw you
I have dreamt of an elevator
hung midway waiting
for lights to go out.

Since then

Every time I have seen you
I have plucked out one key
from the piano I wrote songs for.
.....................................................................

To Lies

This intricate mesh
of patterns
and floral trails
silken wefts
of exquisite colour
now only paler

has forever hidden
the undyed brown warp
the vision sharp
the pleading eyes
the clear skies
and your deceit
the shock of a memory

and the story
of one weaver or many
who wove this lace
but in time
only dust
showed  face.

unknown land
be kind
find fire
find water
find food
make way
tell tales
find fairies
play wind
move feet
bring dreams
bring him back
home

29

................................................................................................

Another 29th
will bring another time.
without your footprints
replaced by the same day
the same hours

and another face.

29th
will never be important.
It never tried to be.
It was me who kept count
the times it threw a pebble
and skipped the waters
It was 29.

This last 29th
is made of mirrors.
Songs of the river
sung outside a theater.
You will be a part of them now
and I will count
beyond 29.