Counterfeit orgasms
the train lifted its reservations
disappearing on metropolitan tracks
under the planar ticking rhombus
remotely pressing.
An extensive winter
to gaze on a bench
left in ruins
echoed the last words
by the Canadian lover,
the porphyry toppled
from our own ashes,
opaque stains of a lazy sun
and the fierce intrigue
– I would find you through his eyes -.
You were not here anymore,
or there,
between filtered rays
and another deceptive adventure,
a blooming bonsai
to soothe and caress
standing between eastward flocks,
again away
and now close
and then from the invisible depths of our reasons,
where truth and love
feed the sacred flame of justice,
my sweetheart.
Oh candid storm,
unruffled paradox of our great virgin forests,
a scattered light in the varied air
permeated with cotton dreams
and cordial dragonflies.
The wisdom of grace moves the world.
En route.
