I place both my hands in your emptiness
pushing them a little bit further.
Tingling,
as i touch to grasp what is within you.
Behind closed walls of solitude where the magic of your being awakens
the most discreet silence.
i touch what is absent in the books.
i touch what has been absent in you for so long.
i touch the laughter of your childhood
Of a time when eternity and you met life with the same bewildering eyes.
A frivolous shadow of dangling branches, the movement of the winds, the drops of rain,
the white feather in the snow,
Waiting
for your childhood to come along
to pick them up in a casket of souvenirs.
i now touch this particular moment
when joy came through the holed roof in the barn
to join the red in your blood.
Light falls on haystacks
poems giggles
in your
glittering eyes.
The bright golden particles of dust floats
unwinding
like threads from the lustrous dress of an tiptoeing Angel
thats your childhood the adult in you cannot see now.
What can the unmystified adult,
in a reductionist world of explainations
convince.
what your carefree childhood heard from the mornings....???
Can they understand the silver traces in the deep blue skies
pouring sweetly where my hands touches yours.
My hand touches yours where the sun strolls
leaving the simplicities of life
the beautiful inner metaphors of your Soul.
