Things of Life

Intre muntii cu căciuli albe, Vara vine cu dezbracari bruște-- Cele de straturi strânse langa piele, Și de felurite rețineri după un duș de soare. Așa se deschid porțile către mare...

I stepped mindfully on your fair belly to see the sudden spring bloom. Your matter exploded in short-lived, exuberant flowers, Yet painful...with stings from thorns... More like life... I stand here still and ascertain glory in the silence of the sands... You are silent indeed, yet speak, Hot to death, yet seemingly frozen. You know time...

     I enter something that's all about touch and feel. Horizontal and vertical gardens, and on top... forget for a moment about the sky... it's a green canopy under which I am caught without feeling a prisoner. The foliage is friendly and the sound of dripping liquid is soothing. I never shunned wetness and its manifestations. Through it, the matter is alive and such humidity finds resonance with my own bodily liquids that keep me going, day after day...      Look at this moss, and ferns, and hanging lichens! How they tickle my sight and my skin...The desire to stay, build a shelter, and sleep here persists. Like Peter on the mountain:"Lord, it is good for us to be here... let us make (...) three tabernacles..." And never leave...To take hold of the time and not letting it go...       So, I would stay here a bit longer and not care of getting wet. I would make a bed of ferns and take a nap, and maybe dream of being encircled in vines an...