trying somehow
to put together a set of words to describe
the sensations
of floating


the sounds of tree, of water
and of hand and paddle

the sweet flow of movement
never quite straight
never quite random

a sense of direction
and a path guided by curiosity

(a what if, a where, where-from, where-to)

just looking at the treeline and asking
where is this sound coming from?

(a distant hope of seeing a beaver
knowing that this is beaver territory

or a hopeless attempt at seeing black grouse
performing their mating rituals in the evening)

finding it hard to put into words
the smallest of things
the beauties that
might not even be worth making into a poem
but which make living such a worthwile thing


just
being here
immersed
in the fragile sounds
of an almost silence
(but never quite).

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.

sunrise, a few clouds -
a beautiful spring morning
to look at the snow!

to unravel the kisses of life

one lover at a time


(a universe talented
at teasing)

a lover
humming the beginning of a song
its words perfectly irremembered -


what a waste of a moment
to think about love.

fresh snow on pine trees
nothing but a late birdsong -
mid-winter calmness