and what at some other time
I’d call a luxury – or others would –
it’s not, it’s – oh – rightness -
used rightly...
like now, aslant in the reclining chair,
the patio door open just enough
to bring air into the room,
March air which feels like the most
precious commodity, substance, gift, grace,
where, how, could I say;
and the book of poetry held loosely,
glanced at occasionally;
some phrases, some words, of Tom’s
growing timelessly, flowering,
seeding a generosity of new poems
too formless to call mine
but the warmth of his heart
makes mine to expand, and
boundless now; the mind too, boundless;
a boundlessness of poetry;
then, now, always; so that
in this moment, heart, mind, poetry, boundless,
there’s complete liberation;
beyond luxury, beyond necessity
and poems may or may not be,
for being’s all…
What a wonderful Springtime poem...the open doorway, the book (so lightly held) . and the wonderful air of acceptance...of whatever comes? I loved this one!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I think you are the only person in the world who could really make me realise, and quite so often, that winning the lottery is not so important after all. :) Simply beautiful M. So appreciative, and your reader cannot help but feel it too. t x