Sometimes you hear the thoughts
Before the words are spoken.

Hiding under the clouds,
When the full moon is above.

Published originally December 11, 2011 @ 1:43 am.

He pulled the old trick
That brings an awkward silence,
He pulled the best trick
To conceal his poetry.

A lovely dance,
Whirling under,
He is dancing
On the edge of the conscience.

In his tenacious dizziness,
Without words
Falling gently,
In a lovely summer day.

The meaningful days in
a box of pictures,
a box of stars,
purple and silver.

Did you hear the spring?
‘I looked’, he said,
it was behind the pictures,
in the box,
all covered with snow,
purple and silver.

Did you hide?
‘Under the moon I did’,
he whispered,
‘as it seductively
drowned in the asphalt’,
purple and silver.

He likes those days,
When the clouds are coming,
In the city,
He likes those days.
When the raindrops form,
In front of his window.
Thousands raindrops,
Morphing and falling three hundred storeys down,
In the sticking filth,
In the everlasting fog of the old city,
He likes those days.
He likes when the clouds are coming.

An older poem recycled.

While the sky was grey,
He walks again
Along the fence
Where no one really passes,
He plays with the wires
Playing a song to the autumn,
While the sky is grey.