a new morning

I am sleeping where my head flowers
like a warm garden inside your dancing hands
It is a silk dance
displaying our clotted adornments
in coagulated tears of white frost
On this fur of cold interstellar diamond winds
that pulls the nighttime horses on the pillows
of timeless marble to harvest our bodies
in a volume of lunar flesh
I will always wear your morning ceremonies
in mosaic adoration of sparkling daylight sins
Born by gentle sirens legs
with the color of my salt
blessed by the praying postures that you close
by means of that which I will always greet you kindly
with my lips at the foot of the sky
so many of us has forgotten




What is not obvious in poems like this
is that its energy content does not belong to anyone,
It is something that relates to a source outside of us,
which is then added to someone.
But we cannot be this other,
because this one other than us
has their own relationship to this source
as defined by that person
The thing is,
that its real meaning, comes from
how we then formulate that relationship
in ourselves
and follows it back
to its true origin
Because it is from this reality
in that space between us all
everything begins.