the lovers, the dreamers & i

An elegant kind of quietness arrives in no apparent hurry to be anywhere. I watch the narrative unfold, sometimes a stranger to those very pages whose sheaves provide the comfort of home. You, you sit facing a mirror, you love yourself so. Together, we are chess players waiting to make a move.

Somewhere a heart beat bubbling forth like cappuccino froth rises and seeks no more.


don’t turn your gypsy heart

Does it ever happen to you …when your ‘life’ seems to acquire a ‘life’ of its own? When it recedes into it’s shell and watches the comings and goings with an avid sangfroid….waiting for something or nothing, not hurting but not forgetting either but always always wanting to hop into rain puddles, huddle around liberally sweetened hot tea, waving at sunflowers tall, straining to hear the temple bells ring at dawn, watching the passage of the waning moon and complaining to you about new red shoes and him not having called?