Precision

Dans ma tete, et dans mon coeur
vous restez le couteau qui coupe avec precision.
Laisse dans mon souffle il ya si longtemps,
le couteau n'a pas perdu sa perspective,
ni son energie.

It is the blade that cuts without hesitation
or faked mercy, it is my compass and my evening star,
that reassures the path is strong and secure,
it allows my feet to touch ground each and every time,
my words following the drum beat the knife taps along.

Dans ma tete, et dans mon coeur
vous etez le couteau qui chante avec force.
Battant comme un tambour a cote de ma voix,
le couteau danse mes scenarios avec elegance
et elan seduisant.

The sound not unlike sharp scissors, flowing through
the fabrics of my poems, soft, hard, silken, coarse,
the shapes find guidance in the staccato steps
the knife elaborates on the stage that is my mind.
Aloof, sensual, smooth, alert, kind,
the blades cut through any resistance or hesitance I might hide.

Pared side by side, paper birds take flight leaving my breath behind,
to reach up to the skies beyond, above, around, fearless, free,
with the sparkling knife of your sharp presence and mind.
Steady, watching like two bright metal eyes near and afar,
precision lines and cuts trailing smartly, red and bright.


Trudi Ralston.
May 10th, 2016.
For a most solid muse,
for D. O.