You were not born
when I met you yet
your long lashes pointed at
some place at the core of me

Before that moment
in the rose gold light of town
silent perplexity paved the dusty road
and we both walked side by side
even though you were not born yet
when you and I met

How can so many dreams arise
from a crack in the ceiling
saccade of the eye - oscillation of the soul
trembling wish awash - heart fixed on mending
while we were waiting
for the last snow to melt

Then walk again in spring or so
until the end of the road
when sarcasm pops out of a shell
and frozen phantoms evanesce
transforming moments before our eyes
so we soften

That other way we have of speaking
the one that floats like music and ghosts
and moves the dust-laden air…
That other way we have of having each other
and filling our pockets with life
now and then…

You came to me before I was born
a seismic dream in my room
shaking - shaken - door left ajar
then slowly opened to receive
an invitation to us

Late afternoon on a bench
the school building in strange quiet waits
with plumes of light in plane trees
the day ends on openness
my choice the moment I welcomed you