To you, distant angel, I write these verses.
To you, distant angel, I will recite my poems.
Sometimes I believe we both belong to one life.
Many nights I dreamt we two shared a dream.
But now I suppose that you’re a distant angel.
Many moments we shared in rich happiness.
Much time we enjoyed in pure togetherness.
But now I see that you’re just a distant angel.
I hoped I would kiss your very fragrant flesh.
But now I see your soul dancing with the wind.
Allow me to dance with your tempted soul!
Give me a second to touch you tender mind!
Should I take your soul away from the wind?
Will your flesh stand any torture of the world?
Should my lips keep calling you "distant angel"?
Robin Ouzman Hislop's poetry is certainly in dialogue with some of the key architects of the 'poetics of indeterminacy' – both the Modernist strands represented by the likes of Beckett and Stein, and the postmodernist strands represented, initially,
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