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HOME WITHIN EACH IMAGINATION
He sleeps
with his heart open
letting the ocean waves
rock his little boat
back n'forth n'back
like falling
asleep in lover's bosom
. . .
How big the heart can be!
What a roar the blood makes!
As the day recedes
the shadow of Self
stretches long
like any memory
left on earth
sprouting backward
deeper and deeper
into a blue heart
. . .
The story of Love
is a white dove
fighting the harsh wind
over the oceanic chaos
flying towards a sound
softly calling
its name in Mandarin, English
Farsi, Hebrew
. . .
Or the language of dream
with its liquid textuality
tangible & transparent
bringing the one afar
closer and closer
. . . the words
float, bleed
dancing . . .
Someone sleeps
with his ears open
listening to the ocean's pulse
::october '05 |
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