A Man of Wisdom

is a mountain sweating its cap down to nothing
the arid plains of the Serengeti, sunbaked grasses
the baobab tree,  pawprints of lions, claws retracted
the collective of every spot on every spotted animal everywhere.

A man of wisdom
stands like the tower of Italy, leaning but never falling.
When he speaks a sunray is breaking out of a cloud.
His voice is church bells ringing on the hour.

A man of wisdom
does not fear the space between breaths
the space between words
the space between a glance and tumbling
down a hill of infatuation
knees and elbows curled into stomach     rolling rolling rolling.

A man of wisdom
walks with a bird of happiness cupped in his hands
peeking into the darkness of his hand-nest
holding it to his ear to listen to the chirp of glad tidings
baring his teeth in a smile, laughing the good news into the wind.

A man of wisdom
emits a fragrant odor when he parts his lips to speak.
The scent of sandalwood is on his tongue, his teeth are poetry
his words a fine cognac stinging my ears with their truth.

Dreaming Again

The fact that you are only a skeleton
with muscles and tendons and flesh
covering your bones, bones which will one day
dry and rest, forgotten, in some cemetery,
does not occur to me at this moment.

At this moment, you are the moon melting
before my eyes. Everything is going dark
leaving me stunned by the light
that lingers on the furrow of your brow
as if to say that you will be the start of a new world.

A new world hides just behind your deep pupils
squeezing themselves smaller as your own brightness
amplifies the cosmos. Just as I commence to trip
into those black holes of infinite unreal possibilities
you close your lids and here I am…dreaming again