Light washes over kitchen tiles like water
wavering with the rhythm of the trees.
Sometimes I don’t remember if your eyes
are green or amber, eyes of a deer.
Where we are from
deer are symbols of male splendor
swift and strong.
Far from the land, they hide
in birch forests, behind dark pines.
Come quick, I want to feel your heart beat
return to our embrace.
Dew was in your hair when I left
the tiles in your apartment cool under my feet
tea glasses and date syrup on the kitchen table
quiet olive trees outside.
I am up again early this morning
the water called me to the beach.
Where you are now, the world is still asleep.