The darkest green. Part Three. Final.

A multi-part poetic coverage of an unusual encounter.


The aftermath and end.

I awoke
covered by a blanket of slashed branches,
my feet embedded in rotten earth.
!This can't be my tomb?
The remnants of what once were grocery bags
made it clear;
my way to the afterlife was not strewn with roses,
but you
tree and me,
deceased?

Tree stands warped.
I'm lying hunched asking
myself...

Which season are we in,
which decade of our lives?
Will autumn bring relief when the rain
washes the gold of your remaining leaves?

I feel suddenly a growing enmity
How can I regain lost confidence?
We both need our talks to resume.

The Gallito de Roca
interrupts the monotonous grey of the closed sky
The most beautiful of the pájaros
searches for a rainbow to celebrate its ascension.

I lost my ear in complete dedication.
I dropped my tongue in fear for hurtful words.
My eyes drown in tears.
The grooves in my face are as your bark cloth,
tree!

I'm looking for green
a tender bed of dark green
the darkest green.

The darkest green. Part Two.

A multi-part poetic coverage of an unusual encounter.

Tough Choices, Difficult Decisions.

How save are my thoughts with you,
tree?
Will the rain pierce or slide off
of your canopy?
Birds are invading my shopping bags
showing the onlookers the bittersweet content they will
devour behind the rustling leaves.
Will you reveal my mental desires in the same way
tree?
One
careless moment
One
gust of wind...

I have told you my deepest secrets
In return I got
falling tears disguised as leaves.
I didn't ask you to share my grief.
I need your forcefulness not your
weaknesses hidden in your
leafy arms.

I was attracted by your strength
now wondering why
I didn't prefer the beauty
of her delicate shoulders?
My tears would have dampened her skin
but afraid as I was
I am now downgraded
to a tree whisperer.

Scraping my ear close to your bark
I hear your insides growling.
A burping wind races through your crown
Deep green turns into jet black
your siren song urges me to leave.

The darkest green. Part One.

A multi-part poetic coverage of an unusual encounter.

At first sight.

The sky went from almost snow

white

towards a shade of 

grey

that I would easily call 

black.

Still,
the tree was showing some color

despite the fact that you couldn't distinguish

the tired trunk 

from the newborn leaves.

I met the tree a long time ago.

I started,

what some may call, 

a conversation, 

while, I would 

rather define it as 

a tentative scan of

possible common interests.

First I dropped the grocery totes 

at the side of the lawn,

showing some fatigue 

to a few potential 

suspicious transients.

In those days 

it was inconceivable that 

I would sit.

It was rather 

a cautious almost bashful

approach of the throne.

My mouth

does not dare speaking.

My lips whisper 

a barely audible

sigh.

My ear caresses 

the trunk 

in a almost erotic touch.

A magical wind spreads through the branches 

and foliage flatters the senses.

About, some, questions we all have …

... choices we do not dare to make.

Again

I found myself

in the middle of a crossroad

a question mark floating

above my head while

scratching my neck

just below the hairline.

Shall I tell you (?) 

all about

temptations

repeat (!) ‘temptations’

all over.

Shall I take this plane

with a one way fare

or shall I

continue hiding continuously  

in my self-made life

behind the curtain?

Darkness and twi-light

revisited.

Shall I survive tomorrow’s

dawn

or it’s dusk?

Will I wake up

in time or

late or

at all?

What if a staircase

|turns out to be|

an illusion of

loose steps?

What if a phrase

falls apart in meaningless words?

Why do

we worship

uppercase  and

loathe lowercase

characters?

Do you or not?

I saw myself in a mirror

In the middle of a crossroad

while scratching my head

a question mark has nestled

in my neck

just above the hairline.

This was about,

some, questions we all have…

choices we do not dare to make!

Or was it about

questions and choices we all have…

answers we do not dare to give,

decisions we avoid to take?

I told you everything

about temptations

over and over,

Again.

The movie

It took me

by my throat

but not

exclusively.

I discharged tears as if

I deserved this pain

first.

First

I didn’t understand

why,

while watching,

weeks

ago, I stopped.

I stopped

reading phrases I would have liked to write myself,

pronouncing them rather than hear them uttered.

Shall we wonder together if

we can stop time in the same

way we

put a movie on hold,

rewind our feelings,

fast forward our moral sensitivity,

or flushing our senses into the darkest

part of our

mutual memory?

When all this criteria

were conceivable

I could

terminate the pause.

Last night

I saw

The End.

Lost leaf.

Was it at six

this morning;

when velvet blinded windows

still hide night life

for unwanted glances?

It was this morning

- as a friend tends to tell me,

I should be precise -

at seven past six,

that the petiole detached from the stalk,

cautiously accurate,

as if Someone's hand executed

with surgical precision.

It felt as a relief,

for a sigh at least,

and not even a second

later I landed safely

on the greasy soil

surrounding the tree.

Laying on my moldy bed,

looking up with my humic eyes

I saw the man staring

at me trough his

fogged windows

from behind

his scarcely opened curtains.

I had no problem to imagine

his next move.

Wasn't I sharing his life since almost

half a year or,

- as a friend tends to tell me,

I should be precise -

wasn't I sharing

weal and woe for

fifteen million seven hundred twenty-four thousand and eight hundred seconds?

A forgotten tear spreads

over the calculator's display

and he cries or,

-despite my friend's insistence,

I can't be more precise-

Is it me crying

?

for lost time

a lost love

a lost leaf.

A prayer.

Yes thee, with

a name for

eternity to whom

I address this prayer,

I'm addicted to you

my goddess

in a religion called

live

in a practice called

love.

Whispering almost

lisping,  with trembling

hands,  folded

fingers outline

a shadowed picture.

Despite your absence

your shade covers

my thoughts in

a heated embrace.

Dry dead skin

sweats ice, lacking

your radiation.

While,

melting

reading your words,

trembling  

hearing your voice,

shaking

seeing your effigy

my body is already in

transition.

Being it

my last longing,

devoid

of any pleasure,  and

only to prove my devotion

to thee, with

a name for

eternity to whom

I addressed this prayer,

I'm begging for your child.