i was born to belong nowhere,
to walk along rocks, waves, 
the ether of luminous plankton
upon the bed of the sea. 
i existed here before this day broke
over you, untouched like dew. 

but the sun rises and i am of a new language
re-establishing verbs with proper heart. right hand 
over my breast, i fetch coffee and 
yoghurt while you read the news:
“Hyacinths will save us”. the earth
must love us after all, in diamonds and in coal.

how light the raindrops contents are

how gently the earth touches us, 

they seem to prefer us to linger in this

moss green seascape draped in velvet….

Heidegger must be right, that being truly exists 

and nothingness? that will be left for poets 

to intuit. i only know that the moment you try 

embrace me, we are smeared by the stars. 

luminous milky sky and summer winds on the 

eleventh floor. you alone know what my face

hides, a face i didn’t know could be beautiful. 

summer golden and ill-adorned

i wanted to hide within myself so deeply

so that fortune could not find her hands

upon my neck. i don’t know how the moon 

always finds her courage to step outside

 on nights like these, with

small blasphemers howling out her name

from leaf to leaf, ignorant of aquinas. 

for all their faults, they seem more skilled at

accepting eternal recurrences of the same event

than i am. they always fall in love and

put up no resistance. 

jitters before traveling sound like a key turning in its door 

left and right and you know, one way you are locked in;

the other opens you to all. now here we are.

my fingertips aching for mountains, lakes, 

places only we know that go on memorising you: 

evenings with orion’s teeth glimmering, 

days of scaled-back hillsides so wildly hungry at its calm.

it all went just like that, 

                   and we remain a little unhappy

                                                             as usually in love.