He Loves Life
by jakub hasil

He loves flowers, lovers,
and when the waves wash over his feet.
The planet Jupiter,
and the stars at two in the morning.
Rocks and stones, worn-in leather,
dappled sunlight streaming through leaves.

Humming, jazz, and bossa nova,
falling asleep to Buddhist stories,
lengthy baths, and João Gilberto’s Spanish.
Wooden boards imprinted in concrete,
walking outside with eyes closed,
grey-haired couples and puppies.

He loves talking to the birds on trees,
someone stroking his hair,
good laughs and tears.
Cows and bees, feeling emotions,
passion, strawberries and honey.

Listening to the heartbeat in her chest,
lying on the grass in summer,
the warmth of hugs and bedsheets,
the smell of freshly cut grass.
Artisans, trees planted in the streets,
snow falling under streetlamps,
and the sound of rain at night.

He loves the feeling when he cooks,
shadows stretching at sunset,
clouds, lamps and chairs and olive trees.
Reflections in old windows,
Murakami’s novels, and the smell of wax.
Seasons of the year,
objects wrapped in fabric,
the kind of tea only she makes,
the word “tenderness” and raspberries.

Orange marmalade, hazelnut spread,
Wood-fired pottery, yoghurt,
and crispy bread.
Green tea, people-watching,
and the taste of milk at midnight.
Worn-down door handles,
cocoa in winter, meadows,
and the smell of coniferous trees.
Written letters, warm wind,
and white lilies in a vase.

He loves the blueness of the sky,
translucency, the smell of pollen,
the sound of wood cracking in fire,
dancing alone in a quiet room,
The feeling when spring draws near,
birds singing on a late afternoon.

Touching dirt, stargazing,
acceptance and chocolate.
The sound of carving wood,
drifting to sleep, candle flickering,
the warm sound of saxophone,
and the softness of a woman’s body.

He loves staring, pondering, noticing,
the meantime of things.
Feeling textures,
being alone, apricots,
and people doing people things.

The way to know life
is to love many things.
He loves life—
so very much.