filaments

piano evening map
is harboring of breeze
adrift and gently alien,
wave-letters of the sea
along a blessed oblivion
of misted water tides

a velvet airing mystery
of venus fireflies
and tiny sacred nebulas,
a floating spring home
with a door forever open
to the music of his stars

(art by Dirk Wüstenhagen)

майский день

обнаружить небо, вдруг. без лишних имен и напрасно вырванных из альбома листов. после лунных приливов- у лугов смущения, где так прозрачна роса. ведь делиться больнее искренностью, но искренность дальше всего от игр, в которые играют пустые сердца. и просто обнять, и понять себя.

(from a brook diary)

in the quiet of a bright stir moon-dancing is velvet and cyan, and wherever scars are places of a warm meadow shining through, dim april teems with prayerful existence- the air spreading from a silver crescent moment into a weave of delicate chaos, signing every cell to sky-

what opens light doesn’t move to become a form, it’s the closing of matter that makes it appear definite. as if the reality of a reverie, too exquisite and sudden in its nuanced stillness, a small glow budding amid the harbor, doving the whole pilgrim shore with fragrant wonder-

deep and sure
is the heart’s refrain.
not the semblance of a feeling
but a harvest of dusky answers-
off gravity, sotto voce
bridging rippled realms of senses
for the faith of homecoming.

when gestures are the recognition of rejoicing in the reverence of being, the dance flows as it’s meant to be. step by step a flood of whys is erased to discover grace in the ancient staying, a revelation unforsaken-

how a single note sparks a musing spin between seconds whispers of each exile within the reach, its emerald grail carried with subtle skill, its slow flower unraveling the shadow tuned to star halos above the birthing sea..

less than a butterfly flutter
on the edge of an abyss,
more than a galaxy of reckless echoes
the dusk left in peace.

how a single note sparks a musing spin between seconds whispers of each exile within the reach, its emerald grail carried with subtle skill, its slow flower unraveling the shadow tuned to star halos above the birthing sea..

..and a soft earth’s phial
spills the amber dew
of elven bell incense

..and a storytelling bird
of vernal awakenings soars
in most tender freedom.

08.04

there is
a fragrant home
between a rooted sense
and straying thought
revealed to mystery
of open meadows, aflow

a vesper dew on rose,
a resonance of streaming sun
within a blossom shadow
of heart’s song

the vernal deepening
of sacred balance:
mirth and sorrow

04.04

на апрельских акварелях нежность и хрупка, и вечна. в нечаянно распахнутые ветром окна души вливается ещё бледное, но уже звонкое солнце, мягкие лепестки в руках – шёлк из серебристого смеха священных снов. а погожим утром шаги легки и прозрачны, словно дыхание эльфийских звёзд.

daily thoughts of you (april smiling in the melt of silence)

heaven nears the spirit as the incense of lotus warmth ripples our lake sanctuary- as if the world in its wholeness thaws a lore of straying seasons, storytelling the pulse of a moonwind along the alley without a sound, blooming the air in watercolor crayons on the shore of dusk.

faint yet felt and cherished, smaller storms deepen the vision.

there’s nothing that quite captures the sense of each reverie like a grace of how the orison tends to budding shadow, how the calm glory of lantern shine merges with indigo bells at the entrance to dormant gardens..

sometimes it’s one sigh, sometimes a fragile satellite,
sometimes the resonance of ancient steps
(as what forms the outside carries the infinite of within)
in a lake, in a tear, in a melody spilling the eulogy to nature
faith exists with graceful stilling, brave and free

and to whisper spring into wings is to discover the gift of your presence as mirthful buds awaken-
such a gentle soul fabric unfurling lyrics of a vesper wish, once outlining the nebula of a galaxy where aches found peace. fears dissolved, the vast of a valley a circle of healing-

your heaven, nearing the spirit
in all the soft and delicate driftings,
in the confluence of weathered night
and cathedral streets-
ever complete, a moon-spun miracle

..and as each flower
is the earth’s dedication
to sheltering skies
this every breath
is a prayer of gratitude
to your eternal light

~~~