Love is a tree growing light
From its roots to its buds
The seve flowing up
Through its trunk
Defying gravity
And all other odds
Every time it is called.
Love is found
In the firm grip of the grandmother
Protecting the child;
By holding her hands
On his shoulders,
To anchor him firmly
In reality with her life experience
And grit.
Love shines
On the soft side of the strong man
Seeing his child grow up.
Between scolding and rewards
Work and relaxed moments shared
During the time we are given
To walk a shared path.
Love is heard
In the laughter of the mother
Who know she may never
Get out this song right
And yet it is always there
To bind the tribe in the harmony
Of the canon.
Love tastes
Like sweet pancakes
And crepes
The children learned to cook
In a chaotic kitchen
Dusted with magic
Ginger, turmeric and canella.
She said all this is me
over a simple cup
Of black coffee
She then grabbed a bottle of water
And run to catch her train
The witch headed south
With my dreams on her shoulder
Giving her wings to fly
And I knew she did not care which train
Was going to take her
As long as she was promised wings
To fly her through dreams
Rising from trunks
Of magic trees filled with love
Over centuries
I touch your skin
Wanting to feel
The shape of your heart
Nothing more superficial than that;
I look at your eyes
Wanting to see
The hues that fuel your light;
Nothing invisible into that.
I listen to your mouth
Wanting to hear
The undertones that mellow your heart
And I am caught in you key.
I sense who you are
From the rosemary scent
And led by it I smuggle out
Tar colored shadows of past.
I pull hard at the roots
I extract and throw them out
To the deep space
Far, cold and appart.
Years pass and she comes
From nowhere
A sweet ball
Of fire that can make you laugh.
In three moves
You make your songs come out
From her mouth
Warm and light
And joyfully bright
As she dances around
A strange shape
That resembles a heart.
She was born a red angel
and learned to fly amongst them
Blue angles, but she sometimes had
strange behaviors like flying up and down
when all the blue angels were running from left to right
as they were rescuing souls
ready to drown in a river of loss.
While the blues were carrying them
from the river to the edge of the forest
to breath renewed in the shade
she liked to place them closer to the sun
in hawks's next and high branches
exposed to light, hope and dreaming
and only the vague memory
about what was happening down on the ground.
As i sat and sung on the banks,
i had a vision of souls that were turning like balls
of red fires and fly from the trees
into the summer air , amongst
blue angels marveling at their need
to be saved by beauty,
in vision, music, or dance.
