an evening mist;
a sunset repeating its colours in silent conversations.
My thoughts blend into yours to iceland
and from iceland
like narrow lines of hope that cross a canyon of dreams
into a northern wind;
a hollow protecting my heart
woven chains of moss and mist.
Echoes follow the silence
through invisible parallels;
each line dancing with the other;
an aqua sky sleeping with a sun lost in love for the moon
You follow the path of words spoken long ago;
the night no longer calm as daylight covers the midnight stars with sadness.
The wind becomes the philosoper,
and your half-smile
still finds its way through so many storms
that hurl themselves into my soul;
my world re-inventing the time lines that cross the sky.
Clouds carry the poetry of prose,
and your eyes still blue upon the weaver's loom;
threads criss-crossing through timeless landscapes.
your eyes still blue in an iceland storm;
love finding the paper butterflies I made for you from afar.