A poem's appearance is of little consequence
The moon was sad as only the moon can be

Men in tears seek to flee the nightmare of their lives
We dream that with the fingers we can pluck

The calmness of flowers, the depths of moments,
The completeness of a live birth;
White sobs slide into our ears
Remembering the smile of your mother,

On the fortunate day of your first kiss.
The past is a magnet
Drunk with the all the heady scents of sadness
ingrained into the DNA of the everyday
Gathering a dream in the heart of the matter
Eyes riveted on a stranger's eyes

The mouth moves but I hear nothing

I see her eyes blazing, her hair just-so
In the street she remains the mistress of horology
And in the evening she skips the light fantastic
On the lawn where I saw a fairy cry bitter tears
For the beautiful sleep spoiled child she had been
She kept her eyes tightly closed and saw only
Snow white bunches of fragrant stars.