WP_20151003_14_42_24_Pro-1

Let me be your mountain
I
want you to see
me
in the distance and
feel
your breath increase
your
heart´s blood pound
at
all the ancient colours grown anew on
me,
and up close
smell
and touch the hissing rattling heather
and
sink down in
moss
sponge velvet rich,
then
reeds and grasses, pools, a subtle
flow,
a puddled splash,
a
singing stream of
water.

Let me be your stream,
your
rivulet and river,
tumbling
stupidly stuporous,
drunk
on
gravity,
the rocks caressed and tickled from
slabs
of slopes like
collisions
of fish,
cascades and lakes,
hordes of hidden depths.
I
want to be all this,
and
more. I want to
flow
slow sleep-swim
languidly, liquidly become the
sea.

Let me become your
sea.
I’ll be every bit of
it.
I’ll be the waves,
the rippled brimming
crests
of waves.
I’ll
spread the sand flat
for
them to break on.
I’ll
be the mystery,
the
blue, the deep.
I’ll
be the sun dust glinting,
light
of moon fracturing,
bright
slivering silver, horizon’s
path,
an infinite fragmented path
of
gorgeous lambency.

And let me be a storm for you: the
first
dry thirsty winds that
suck
the moisture from the
sea
and blow and breathe,
and
cloud up to the mountain,
cool
and fall as
rain.

Let me be your
rain,
a heartbeat
in
each new
and
ancient drop.