02/03 july in LONDON

Out of context: Reply #637

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    Each star a rung,
    night comes down the spiral
    staircase of the evening.
    The breeze passes by so very close
    as if someone just happened to speak of love.
    In the courtyard,
    the trees are absorbed refugees
    embroidering maps of return on the sky.
    On the roof,
    the moon - lovingly, generously -
    is turning the stars
    into a dust of sheen.
    From every corner, dark-green shadows,
    in ripples, come towards me.
    At any moment they may break over me,
    like the waves of pain each time I remember
    this separation from my lover.

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