The Painter   (2005)

before white canvas I stand
poised once again
to make…

  a fool of myself

trembling with anticipation
  of paint
    of colour
      of line
       of movement…

it is I who begins the work

but…

  if clear heart is allowed to follow
    the canvas completes itself.

If   (2004)

If I were to write a poem
the words would have to fall
softly upon the ear,
or hard
in a deep staccato.

The words would hold complexity
in layers of mille feuilles,
each transparent,
seen from above
and below.

If I were to write you a poem
I would want it
to shatter your heart,
or reach in you
some ancient chord
of knowledge and vibration.

A poem unforgotten,
carried forever
like a deep caress
of the soul.