Deeper Vibration

I gathered his words.
His words, like orbs of wool
in colourful bunches, intricate, promising,
knitting hopes, weaving dreams,
loops of desires,
the crossing of fates,
starry fleeces of unslept nights,
combing the fibers of pain, row by row,
the guaranteed tenderness,
deified by the noble words he spoke;
a nice warm sweater,
of enduring love-
the everlasting warmth.

Night-escape

Some memories rise like yeast
And keep rising, mutating
On nights that are not insulated by dreams.

Some memories rend the night air
Like the distant whistle of the watchman, who shouts in the silent gloom...Stay awake!


Some memories ….
Rest gently, like dried flowers in pages of old books
And fill the night with the mossy fragrance,
Of the meadows of lost love.

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