I hang my hope on the wings of wild paper cranes.
Dancing regally in the wailing white winter snow.
I pray to the gods of the forsaken and the unbelievers.
Living in a darkened land of black and white desolation.
I bend my tired fingers around the folds of a thousand words.
Bringing you back to me in the colourful blossoms of spring.
Picture Credit: Vincent Manier
I traced the skin of your back
like an explorer charting a map
a beautiful new blue ocean.
Where I discovered an island
fitting in the palm of my hand
it became home to me.
In endless hours of the night
when your heart beat drums
a new life raft next to me
In a small waterfront bar in the old Cape of Good Hope,
a place created by the gods for lost souls and orphans,
we drank warm melancholy cocktails out of old bottles
wrapped in cheap brown paper bags to hide our sin
when your soul unexpectedly spilled in from the cold dark rain.
A thousand miles away I lift my eyes to the clear blue skies
and remembering and wondering about the crossroads of life
wrapped up in the inaudible plea drifting up from your voice
wordlessly telling me of pain that the universe holds in my heart
because it sees you and wants to throw its arms around you.
The exhale of your sigh
ran the breadth of the desert
creating a wind to carry
gold, yellow and copper
pieces of sand
that whipped the letters
from the book of emotions
at the oasis of alchemy
and blew them over my cheeks
in words of love and vulnerability
where I lay in the shade
of the tree of possibility
smiling at my stubborn refusal
to send them back to you.