yesterday, at sunset
I somehow forgot the names of things

but it wasn't scary
because I still had

memories

of moving
of dancing


of small, almost-nothing moments
of an early morning
lips touching (tenuto)

and you
so gently on me


and suddenly, all I want
is to slide my face in yours
you to pull my hair just a bit too much

and smile, as we delay a kiss

and -for a moment-

to forget
the names of things

word-spring
whispering caresses
in blackbirdsong, sunsetpink
and smellofwet

now then, here -
life is too big a word

for

the haiku-
beauties

of just nothing of
a moment

this spring morning

and this one


and this one.

to unravel the kisses of life

one lover at a time


(a universe talented
at teasing)

rascal me
I was trying to write the shortest poem
only to wake up this morning
and find my heart smiling
realising no poem would be shorter
than when –eyes closed– I pull you a little closer
to whisper on your lips
almost nothing
(oh, that sweet fragile warmth of morning closeness)

a memory of you crept under my dreams earlier
stared intently
almost demanding I let go and
fall into some half-remembered story
beneath your pillow
and so I'm taken, lying next to you
we take a moment – we smile into each other's eyes
(a stolen hour, a perhaps-gift)

and then you're gone

(I don't know why, but this is how much you disarm me
like this, you disarm me)

life threw a crystal vase at us


and we
hands-in-pockets we
caught mid-sentence, unprepared

a split second too hesitant -
the vase, now, a million shards between us

like a joke that didn’t quite work
an uneasy moment of what-do-we-do-now

(nobody gave me a handbook
on how to be human)

all I know
is I want to feel my heart
skip a beat
as we lift our gaze
and meet each other
and smile wryly

and tacitly agree to catch it
catch the next one
knowing that all we need
is to spend more time
talking less
in that delicate hinterland
between touch
and poetry

like a late summer sunset's gentle light
lands on the leaves of some birch
preparing for autumn

like a gull caresses the wind
and glides, not quite seriously towards
not quite somewhere

I want to hold you and touch you
let my fingers run across the skin of your naked back
feel your heart in my eyes and say

almost nothing
and slowly, vaguely, melt in that intense lack of words
that no song prepared me for

no poem offered to help me understand
how to untangle your loving eyes
from mine

oh how endless that moment will be
an ecstasy of soft sensations
the heart's subtle fireworks

and that little space between us
all the magic of the world is there
glimpsed at in those small hours of the evening

between an almost-kiss
and a half-whispered goodbye
that memory of tomorrow sits in my fragile words

as I try (oh, believe me I try!)
to figure out what this is all about
but I can't

all I know is I want to hold you
to hold you deep in my arms, and our moment
to be a metaphor for something more real

a poetry of life
danced in each other's hearts
(unspoken)

unlocking little beauties
revealing the hidden
interstices between
words


like discerning
some time ago
the different smiles
of a lover's lips.

hold
her heart


in your eyes



and
whisper




the first word
of a secret




(a little
exploration



of silence.)

αυτή η γλυκιά στιγμή
που σβήνουν τα τζιτζίκια
κι ανατέλουν τα τριζόνια

που σιωπηλά αναστενάζουν κι οι
τελευταίες ηλιαχτίδες

και τ'άστρα, ένα-ένα
κάνουν την ντροπαλή τους εμφάνιση


αυτή η στιγμή μπορεί να συνοψιστεί
σε δυό γλυκά σου 'ναί'
ή σ'ένα μοναχικό σου 'όχι'

στις ματιές που μού'ριχνες
λίγο πριν αποκοιμοιθούμε ο ένας
στα όνειρα του άλλου

ή απλώς
στις λέξεις που δεν είπες

όταν απλά μ'αγκάλιασες ενώ
περίμενα να φύγεις.

flowing bliss
touching softly the core of my being


reminding me the gift
that it is

when an almost stranger


gently unties a knot and releases
a desire for being in touch
with your aliveness.



to smile in return –
an act
of effervescent gratitude.

the simplest beauty


(a mutual understanding)


this little implausibility
of just a few millimetres

a stillness only unbroken
by silence


and such a long draft
of moonlight
beaming between our lips



to know
and not to kiss -


enticing
intoxications

of a long night's minute.

there is something about
train platforms on a sunny weekend


full of unseen little
stories


a tough-looking young lad
clinging discreetly onto his girl's coat
her hands comfortably in his pockets


an older lady
leaning a bit too forward against her partner's figure
looking up and saying
nothing
(wishing only
a few more silent signs)



unseen rivers of hope
streaming down human cheeks


the same flesh and skin
that smiles at a lousy joke -
a cheeky little bedside pun
from a lover's memory of long ago.

the same cheeks that feel the slight changes in the wind
as one looks around from the top of a high hill
one used to climb as a kid


and here is wildness
an unexplored, unexplained part of human tears
unexpectedly finding its way on the concrete ground
of the platform
separating, for now
her lips
from his
as that moment goes by
and that one
and that one.

the discrepancy between male and female is what I choose to live for.

take the ocean
and put it in a box



but don't tell me





and I'll know





that when you smell a rose
when you sip a bit of life's ember



you'll think of me



and I will always be there







a million hugs

in the sound



of the ocean
waves



(when you wiggle that box



back
and forth)

who needs forever



when you have a moment

to be a sea




of sensations

here





to spend one more night

on earth



who needs to be in love

when there are endlessly different stars



fallen

in a poet's palm





leaves

unanswered letters





don't stop



life comes



from far beyond chrysanthemums

and november fog





and it's here -









are you?

if the world was a whisper
(in French)
and the sound of waves
the sand
if a pebble was a mother

then I would love a thousand roses
every time you kissed goodbye
and every time I fall in love with you

you are beautiful

because of a rose I can't smell
because the clouds turned from grey

into blue
and I heard you say


nothing
(in French)

a word is a word
and it points to something
that isn't a word

a word is
a word

(the only word to be a word)

for love
is not a word

it's the little kisses


that like a gentle breeze
caress your eyes



a smile that once
whispered

and said everything


by moving oh so little



the same smile
that fills your breath

with such stillness

and you move


you touch



what used to be
a falling leaf

(the last falling leaf)


the end of a whisper

of time -



love is now



a word
was when you read it





and like a little stream


it runs down your cheek




the same cheek
I once kissed

forever



but watch my words


loveisnow




is





the fleeting sensation

of a thought flying out of the window

leaving behind
a tingling body


and freeing, perhaps

a little space


so I

can


now







be

sitting in a park

one may be allowed to discover


(gently)



the reasons why we live



or even

that we live


and that to laugh and shout and move and play

to touch to love


are but expression marks


in a sentence of being



a phrase to be understood



by leaving thoughts
behind













here























now

to feel the pleasures

of a shared existence

a moment



to say



who are you




that isn't we








an immoral act







of little
smiles.