Stefan Maxima Poet Free verse

You love them all

I watch you this morning,
 bathed in cold October dew,
 wrapped in wisps of mist, just awakened.
 You long to welcome the first rays of the sun,
 while my brisk steps
 — professionally hardened hammer blows
 from the nearby construction site 
— and the heavy, hoarse coughing
 of hardened smokers echo around you.

I know, my old one.
 No, you’re not old…
 it’s just how I say it,
 the way they used to call you fondly.
 The fervor and warmth of the greats’
 expression, and of many familiar and unfamiliar bohemians,
 dreamers,
 warriors,
 sufferers,
 and builders.
 What you
— Hey, handsome— do you hear?

They put your shine into the gilt colors of the palette,
— not to prolong you, 
but because they honor you
 with their soul and heart.

My dear Dobrica, 
I know everything.
 Reading this morning all your messages
 left in the leaves of long rows of trees,
 in the graceful walk and the ringing echo of your doves’ heels.
 In gentle whisperings through the parks,
 and the loud peals of church bells
 into the throat of a long, blue night…

You love them all.
 And they love you. 
They know it:
 the little ducks,
 the gulls…
 the white swans… 
 fishermen 
and lazy downstream tugboats
 woven into the emotions of the river’s verse, 
diving deep into your soul,
 merging in the mist of
 Splavarska Street with the horizon of your eternity.

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