honu

In the green morning 
I wanted to be a heart. 
A heart. 

And in the ripe evening 
I wanted to be a nightingale. 
A nightingale. 

(Soul, 
turn lavender colored. 
Soul, 
turn the color of love.) 

In the vivid morning 
I wanted to be myself. 
A heart. 

And at the evening's end 
I wanted to be my voice. 
A nightingale. 

Soul, 
turn lavender colored. 
Soul, 
turn the color of love.

Thank you!

I caught this morning morning's minion, kingdom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in her riding Of the rolling level underneath her steady air, and striding High there, how she rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing In her ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing

PoetryAnd it was at that age . . . poetry arrivedin search of me. I don't know, I don't know whereit came from, from winter or a river.I don't know how or when,no, they were not voices, they were notwords, not silence,but from a street it called me,from the branches of night,abruptly from the others,among raging firesor returning alone,there it was, without a face,and it touched me.I didn't know what to say, my mouthhad no waywith names,my eyes were blind.Something knocked in my soul,fever or forgotten wings,and I made my own way,decipheringthat fire,and I wrote the first, faint line,faint, without substance, purenonsense,pure wisdomof someone who knows nothing;and suddenly I sawthe heavensunfastenedand open,planets,palpitating plantations,the darkness perforated,riddledwith arrows, fire, and flowers,the overpowering night, the universe.And I, tiny being,drunk with the great starryvoid,likeness, image ofmystery,felt myself a pure partof the abyss.I wheeled with the stars.My heart broke loose with the wind

Roxylove En la mañana verde,quería ser corazón.Corazón.Y en la tarde maduraquería ser ruiseñor.Ruiseñor.(Alma,ponte color de naranja.Alma,ponte color de amor)En la mañana viva,yo quería ser yo.Corazón.Y en la tarde caídaquería ser mi voz.Ruiseñor.¡Alma,ponte color naranja!¡Alma,ponte color de amor