Follow me to a circle made of poenamu,
to a lagoon and the saliva of a violin.
Away from a goodbye and a new sound,
maybe live in a hibiscus or a bloodstain.
But always with your face in my memory,
an autumn day or medicated sun does not matter,
then settle in my arms in the cool evenings.
A dove opening its bosom to give seeds air.
Rocks that move in the night towards a dream.
A city of spirits caught in a machine,
and I walk through smoke, inhaling magic.
Turn to converse with an animal giving
birth, and suddenly it developed wings,
and split the sky in fragments with its beak.
From 100 Love Poems (Earl of Seacliff, 2005)
© John Pule