To Griselda, a vibrant inspiration
Every thought
Every thought
written
to be forgotten
Every ball of yarn
back
to its origin.
“You’re an artist
I’m a performer”
said she
to me,
but I dare to be a poet
without naming it.
So this is it
a bunch of
"perhaps"
and shouting “yes”
And what remains
in the sigh
is the unpredictable word
that sets the circle
in motion,
until something breaks it.
Can you stare
at the moon
and not really recognize it?
Leaves fall down
howling
but I pay attention to
the bees
buzzing
around linden trees.
They alone
make a poem
with images
beautifully arranged,
with adjectives
fitting together
like puzzles,
and falling
like dominoes.
Love
the way you dispose words
like flower bouquets
especially chosen
because of their colours.
And that is all
what people usually
have to say to me.
You,
the romantic sort of poet,
author
of your own feelings -
A full time
anxious.
Crush me, then
bend me,
I’m an artist
completing the circle
and breaking it.
