Hidden Patterns

on the floor was the poet
young women at his side
kissing his fingers
without rest
and the stars above
flooded the night

he kept his mind on the words
with great discipline
creating and re-creating
the hidden patterns
and putting them into
larger constructions,
organizing their strange gifts

the women lay flowers at his toes
and sent their sweet breath towards him
with messages and secrets

he inhaled the chaotic structures
that came from them
and began to cry
transforming the stars,
the kisses
onto pages
in his never ending book
full of questions
and vast pregnant gaps