Marco Di Caprio

I cross the lightness of the silent sea,
and sound the hidden depth of that abyss.

Now here I stand among the trembling leaves,
within the rustle of hissing sorrows,
within the lightness of your tender cry.

I feel that sorrow still, and hear your cry
reflected in these bright and shifting depths.

The sea lies quietly behind my steps.

I question now the mirror of the air
that hovers at the forest’s shadowed ford.

You dance within the current of the night.

Come, ease the weight of all my hidden sorrows.
I cast my voice into my darkened depth.

Within the woods, a hidden ford remains,
a path that opens softly to the abyss.

And in the pond I gaze at you, while sorrow
still asks for signs, new signs that come from you.

Your answer rises clear: your picture shows
Nature’s truth, quiet joy, and love.

And as I stand and contemplate your form,
I see that I am trying to learn such a difficult art.