Like a birdsong
you’re with the wind
on my brow
in this early morning light.
With the rustle of leaves
outside my memory’s door
I tiptoe like a child
to keep you one moment more
or I will sulk
in the roofless corner
of my fears
forever wishing I was a forest.
Copyright ©2007 Francia Canicula Clavecillas
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Like a birdsong
Listening
Listening
Do not let loose
your barking dogs
as I clamber
the winding stairway
to your door.
I am a naked body
of a word
a child from the rain
bringing you wild flowers.
Copyright ©2007 Francia Canicula Clavecillas
Sunday, August 12, 2007
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