all my poets.

all you poets attracted to the magnet of sensitive and observant eye — we draw one another with gratitude and a certain type of romance — the words we share and the thoughts we breed are as sensual as a spring kiss; lips

reveal intimacy for which we yearn. can we indeed hold on to each other? or is our fate defined by our brief ethereal encounters: admiring the smell of rosemary scones, over whiskey, in a bookshop, over the vastness of the ocean, in a shared pain, on the dance floor, or in the harmony of subtle melodies. I am

all of you in those temporal blessed spaces bowing to the rhythm of time, to the wink of the heavens, to the treasure of diversity. To have found you, to have tasted your lines — is what I see now as the particularity of my life

with which I am making peace collecting in my drawer the handwritten or typed pieces of your hearts.

thank you.

yours — I