Dan Enache Poet Free verse

Refreshment with Seaweed

Refreshment with Seaweed

Refreshment with seaweed in the night coming like a magical water,
over the wood of our bone over the fraternized gentle flesh,
with the merciful nature that sculpts us from within luminously,
and why keep watch over an empty bed without dreamers of stars.
A bed in which no one dreams their living blue dreams anymore,
in which icons fall from walls transforming into rivers,
so again it is about this strange form of departure,
and almost reflexive return like an eternal circular cosmic dance.
But let us call them once by their magical and secret hidden name,
those clandestine slipper wearers of ruminated silences,
receive my son your gift and return to the city your sword,
gelatinous the useless instrument of cold suffocated voluptuousness.
A viper or so amputated through corners washed by silver rains,
hey proud bearers of barren shadows who float in the air,
why don't you bring me the woman born of fire with hair of flames,
the alabaster song on an unpolluted radiant pure tray.
How magical it is for stones to seem more than simple stones,
what cosmic intoxication to walk with the brother's hands in pockets,
banished and impoverished to essence like a traveler through dimensions,
the day hurled like a huge depraved crow over streetlights.
And pale increasingly paler electric lunar lights,
now and then and then behold one day in a day of yesteryear,
when we were both much more beautiful and alone like stars,
refreshment with marine seaweed over the wood of the fragile magical bone.
The night comes over us like a blanket of phosphorescent green water,
our flesh fraternized with nature that transforms us into crystals,
why keep watch over the empty bed where dreams have flown far away,
icons fall and become water flowing through the room full of light.
It is about departure that is dance and return that sings,
the clandestine slipper wearers ruminate silences full of magic,
and to the city they give back the gelatinous sword that cuts only dreams,
amputated vipers through corners washed become radiant jewels.
The proud bearers of barren shadows float like naked angels,
they don't bring me the woman of fire but bring me her echo in warm air,
nor the alabaster song but its pure living cosmic resonance,
stones seem more than stones—they are compressed universes.
What magical intoxication to walk with the banished brother's hands in pockets,
impoverished to essence until he becomes pure light without defined form,
the day hurled like a huge depraved crow over golden streetlights,
electric lights increasingly paler becoming lunar silver.
Now and then and then behold in a past day we were both beautiful,
incomparably alone in the cosmic crowd that pushed us gently,
refreshment with seaweed in the night that comes over our fine bone,
over the flesh fraternized with nature that transforms us into green stars.

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