THE POTTER’S ALLEY

In the cool
heat of one night,
Blank
clouds killing the moon’s glow,

The bad past was feeding
On my hopes
of love,

It could have been my last dusk, 
In the city that broke my heart,
I could have begun hating that town,         
Which I had loved since the start,

Walking
down straight away,     
From God’s excellent factory,
An angel
descended to me,    
Behind her a fading trajectory,

One look at
her and I know I was hers,
One single gaze and she left me amazed
One astonishing moment and I was in love,
She moved away, moved far,
Made another turn, and looked again
With the
promise of meeting again,
With the
assurance that the last
moment was spent not in vain,

My footwear
unclean, my heart pure,
 Her clothes filthy, soul chaste,

Losing that
moment of the night,
 In the quest to prove our purity,

Awaiting
the day, awaiting some day,
To gain
love, to lose sanity,

For we were
not thieves

 To plot in the dark,
 We were honest lovers
And shall
wait for the dawn,

 The potter’s alley
where he worked,

Carving out pots from clay,
That place,
love, at its own pace,

Sculpted an
image of her,
In the
quiet alley of my heart.