I Can Cry

You built me again
when I lost my way — almost home —
on the path to a strange, abandoned house.

You watched over me,
leaving the weight of the world outside your tent,
where I was a guest —
the forgotten second spouse.

You searched for new paths with no signposts,
heard my wolf’s howl at night crossroads,
and the moon floated like a giant eye
that sees further than I can howl —
than I can cry.

No more howl,
no more cry.

Rebirth into the darkness,
a true return,
a light that kindles through connection.

I wrote myself a second voice,
a perfect harmony of dark reflections,
woven from thin strips of your words —
your long, Zen exhalation.

A station for dreaming,
a meditation,
then a sharp turn —
the assassination
of my dreams
by your voice’s escalation.
You touched me
with the hatred of another nation.

Hope in the morning
of a wandering girl —
my ancestral curse.
Freedom and truth,
our unchanging persuasion.

That’s why I still believe in firelight,
somewhere high in the mountains,
where there are only echoes —
echoes of “Never die!”,
echoes of eagle wings
and Prometheus’ cry.

Where the smoke screens of your cigarettes
roll through morning valleys far below me.
There, I walk the path like a sunny wind —
the wind of freedom,
the will to be.

That wanderlust in the soul never disappears,
and the fog breaks
into pale fragments of your eyes.
My world sounds like heavenly choirs —
my world is pale blue.
My world never dies.

And the kisses of nicotine-stained embraces,
your face and its charm —
my quiet lesson in grace.
A man without song for me, yes...
but jazz, jazz, jazz!
That endless, predatory melody of life —
igniting like an altar
with an unloved wife,
igniting like a cigarette after a cigarette,
when the first one burns out —
and the next one’s just a trace.

The weight of the world folds
into smoke-ring novels
in front of a tent
where someone still watches by the door.
Just a New Year’s joke,
just another soul
sitting on the floor —
a new, long Zen.

I don’t smoke anymore.
But I miss
the man you were then.