Beating and pounding

                                                                     To Griselda, a vibrant inspiration



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.