Feb. 14 the lioness's dream carine roth
The blue space between the clouds...
Something opened and closed.
Intense affection remains.
I don't love you anymore, I don't love you.
Who wants to hear that again.
As a pilgrim, on the road.
As a poet, cleaning up dead dreams.
A point of suspension, crossing each other in the whirlwind of celestial bodies, the moment of pause when surrendering and giving oneself up resembles giving oneself away. Then it's gone.
Escapes, as he came.
As she appeared, stardust, shooting.
The brevity of a dazzling radiance.
Did you see it?
It was beautiful...
From this flame, I'll make a fire for sailors lost at sea.
From this immensity, a cloak of darkness for the light to shine through.
It's music in your eyes.
This is what I choose to remember, buried treasure, silence from the depths, what will not be, has never been.
I remember, remember, call for renewal.
I welcome my sadness with tenderness, as it desires my comfort.
It's so wide open... Vastly unexpected.
And carpets brood over the unfulfilled.
The lioness's dream.
I wish you the beautiful road, many byways, strewn with rainbows and planted with annalogues.
