June 15, 2011 § Leave a comment

From my box of nostalgia and a long lost admirer.  Sorry, I can’t help myself … In praise of literacy: 


The Longing of Things


When I come home alone

I sense all things longing

cups and spoons for caresses of your lips

bed and blankets for the form of your body

I hear the water dreaming

of running down your skin

while the radio evokes you 

in songs of saudade


The lights complain: They want to make visible your beauty

That the mirror – tired of me – is impatient to reflect

I sense the air eager to transmit your words and laughing

even the windows look sad – “Where is the gaze of her eyes?”

the words in my books ask: “When will she come back to read us?”

Days, hours, and minutes implore me to help them run faster. 

If they miss you – how do you think I feel? 

Only my fingers are happy: They can write you love poems. 

(even if they aren’t as good yet as September Cohen’s)



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