give me the power to endure
the wind that’s blowing from the oceans
its colors mixing earth and sky
with magical, erotic potions.
give me the power to surrender
to violent, burning rain of kisses
under forgotten constellations
to understand what your soul misses.
finally now when I’m leaving,
give me the power to survive
the pain of Mary Magdalene
in the three days of agony
before the playing of last scene.
image: Irina Alexandrovna/Shutterstock
Nobody can hurt you the way you can hurt yourself.
give me the stars
that shine under the bridges
where poor children spend their nights
the blood that leaks from wounds of war
when the last piece of bread is turned in tar
give me the language of your alabaster gestures
the guilty passion of Tristan for Queen Isolde
the mystery of painted nudes on walls
the cries of nuns under an angel’s lacerated wing
your untranslated love coiled in a tarnished ring
“she is just eyes,” a poem in collaboration with bogpan. You can find more of his wonderful poetry on his blog.
she is just eyes
the moon rests on her neck
i write with a black feather her words
fragile lines on my palms
a sibyl prophesizes
a buzzing bee
reaches out like a cat
above the hills of Florence
like Galileo Galilei I exclaim
“And yet it moves”
the bee lands on her shoulder
my eyes are burning blue
imagine: Timur Kulgarin/Shutterstock