when the soul flies
in sleep, it goes to
touch the butterflies,
plays hide and seek
with grasshoppers
and sparrows, it grows
with the scent of flowers,
never leaves my skin
which stirs through the night,
always breathes with me
this graceful pilgrim, this
bird made of dream and love,
so easily frightened by
visions, monsters and pain,
soul so much alive, awake.
i must get up and give
shelter and tenderness
to this small hungry bird,
i will give it water and hope
so it will not die at day.
all these souls, i see them
at night hovering on crosses
and roses and lakes,
on chimneys, on cars.
they gather together, seek
protection, they know too
too well the danger of light,
of human reason and deeds.
they all long for a home,
for warmth, but though
they know each other they
cannot melt in sweetness.
and so i abdicate from desire,
from politeness, from lies,
opinions, from philosophy,
just please let me kindly go.
home.
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