Transcending the wall,
living in the shell of a moment.
I want to retrieve you.

The bush fires may leave
us separately. The wayfarer
has still the grit to walk.

You walk around
the mount, seven times to
prove the fidelity of legs.

I did not earn you.
Like a comet you crashed
in my lap burning a hole.

What was the desire
of a wailing night, never
reaching the ocean.

In the backseat of your Audi, the three o clock shadow
slants across your face like a threat, makes you look
dangerous. Makes you look
interesting.
So what do you do?
I tell you
I write.
What does that mean?
It means walking into a crowd and getting lost in your head. It means finding loose change in your heart.  Means the world is your dysfunctional, perpetually disappointed, ailing mother. Means this isn't going to last.

But all you see is a silver smile.

Knitting your muffler
As childhood...
Your black dress smells of me
I can't see the white jasmine flower without you...
"You are a jasmine flower yourself"
"My jasmine flower..."
Oh, my sweet little friend !
Play with me
In the glimpse of childhood memory
Wanting your shoes
Crying to the sun...
Cut my black hair
Turning to a balloon for you
Reaching to the city of you...

شال گردنت را می بافم
...مثل بچگی
پیراهن سیاهت بوی مرا می دهد
نمی توانم گُلِ یاسِ سفید را بی تو ببینم
"تو خودت گُلِ یاسی"
..."تو گُلِ یاسِ منی"
!دوستِ کوچک و شیرینِ من
به یاد بچگی
با من بازی کن
کفش های تو را می خواهم
تا آفتاب گریه کنم
موهای سیاهم را بِبُر
بادبادکی برای تو می شوم
...به شهر تو می رسم

Sleepless, the day sighs

Night dreams of sleep

Open eyed