My Guardian Saints Poem by guillermo veloso

Rogues
Drinkers
Poets
Strollers of light and color,
In the morning, aflame, I feel
A strange feeling of company and care
A vision that laps at the shoals of my horizon
A tide that slowly appears with no moon
To guide its machinations
I hear music
Ethereal fingers trace the outline of my life that comes at
This solitary instant
A flash of movement behind me
A sudden wisp of air
My arms are light as they lift me
I am light
My ghosts file in a row, a passage of memory
Tidal flow that leaves its fossils trapped in mud
Like ancient tracks of insects, birds and twig
Light now, sifts through the sepia fall pastel
An ebb and flow of tear and light
Old photographs record a happier time
Times of tearful happiness long washed away in the grey tides
Now I await the return of my saints
To drink a toast and spin light into gold