SLOW DUSK Poem by Maruja Vieira

My hands they are filled
with the sun and scents of sun.
The dusks return to me ever
the invisible presence of you.

Your glance follows me
on sketching my shadow-form

Within this landscape it is you
who are the tree of my dream.
Drops of restless light
down twixt the leaves filter

There is a column
of gray smoke-fine-on the wind.
It is slowly forming a word
just to hold the things of the past.