After the first wave we step outside.
Predawn floods the arena
Of the mind like another drug.
The lake is like a gray plane.
Small wavelets seem sculpted
At exact intervals of sand and foam.
The hour is enlarged.
Every minute touches
The outer circle of the infinite.
My friend, overwhelmed
By rapture, weeps at the lucid
Disclosing of beauty;
He's never seen his soul,
Never been so transparent.
Somehow the clarity
Has me immensely happy.
I stand on the cottage shore
Like some divine being.
I will never see farther,
Never comprehend more.
I look out at the lake
And embrace eternity
Like a gift to myself
I can't open until I die.
Well articulated and nicely brought forth with insight. A poignant creation. Thanks for sharing Salvatore.
Thank you again. I'm not sure what to do with the poems I write. Sharing them is a natural instinct. The idea of publishing them in a book seems so pedestrian. Better wings than bindings. Cheers, friend.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Salvatore, such a well penned poem................
Thank you. Quickly approaching sixty years of age I feel I am at the height of my creative powers. Thanks again, friend.