Being with her is like
A blustery wind,
gently blowing snowflakes,
into my face and nose
And a puff of crystal dust
hangs in the air,
for the eternity of a split second,
as if wing'd pixies were buzzing and floating
all around me
I have the urge
to swat the pixies away,
but it is like heaven to me
and there is no need
to capture the rapture;
It will be what it will be
And it is best floating free
as the mathematical logic of happiness
floats away on the wind
I remember December,
and the feeling
that there was an empire of snow
floating all around us,
swirling quietly
in the curious silence
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like the way this seems to hang on the air like a half remembered song.