A silver pool

Chapter 8: THE WAYFARER

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About This Book

The volume gathers short, lyrical poems that move between intimate confession and vivid, travel-tinted scenes, often using sea, desert, and carnival imagery to evoke longing and desire. Many pieces treat love, loss, and memory with devotional or elegiac tones, transforming personal feeling into music and visual metaphor. Occasional persona poems and translated voice-poems recall distant cultures and theatrical figures, while recurring motifs—stars, fires, pools, and painted streets—anchor the collection’s contemplative mood.

THE WAYFARER

Only the wind from the Seven Hills

Can mate with the heart of me,

And the mist, adrift on the cliffs at night,

That blows from the dusky sea.

Only the song of the flying stars

Can reach to my muted soul,

And speed my feet on the wild, free track

That swings from Pole to Pole.

I spell my lore from the sand of dreams,

I sleep by eternal meres,

My stirrup-cup is the kiss of dawn,

My hearth is the boundless spheres.