THE SOLDIER OF LONGING
Called to duty,
He wears no soldier’s shoes.
A soldier,
He wears no hat.
A soldier,
No belt, no coat
He has.
A soldier,
He writes letters of longing,
Soaking them with tears
Each day.
His shoes torn on cobblestones,
He climbs peaks, gasping,
With a heavy bag full of memories,
Keeping vigil even at night in the graveyards.
In castles with captains,
He rises with the dawn,
Releases the running horses,
Never ceasing to remember.
At dried-up springs,
He washes his eyes with fairies,
Drunk from their dancing.
He runs, he runs, the poet…
An eternal soldier of longing.