tears bloomed in the morning, always in the nearness of time yet beyond. linden silence shaped with twinkling nocturnes swayed from lake to air, from air to heart, from heart to echoes of a candleflame, weaving a timbre of your smile through the muffled call of bells.
shadows are deeper than shades, texture of sorrow behind eyes closed subtler than wordless. when hours of balm and breath stream an alchemy of how the world opens on each miracle isle, spirited by flight of evenstar, soul’s meadows rise with slow profusion. a delicate revealing-
revealing how soft steps of snow are and a chamomile wish signing its fragrance on lifelines. nothing’s left without a trace, like presence of skylight filtered through stained bus windows or into small corners of ancient streets sheltering a forsaken art of listening to sonatas.
with aching gravity a gathering of doves beneath orphaned twigs unravels a sylvan mystery. closer to grail of winter than wisdom, further and further from what shatters the ever-dreams.
may it be to merge with arbors is to dance your wind never wondering about destination. may it be because all the mountain forest ever really felt is holding a cloud’s hand near the brook. once stormed starless and dusted of smoke, but reciting a summer scripture to our fireflies.
in a house of moon and tender mist love is rooted in what i cannot utter. a solitude slumbering in amaranth leaves, an infinity awakening to walk, only soft-winged. the constant verb of sharing heart with your sky even when lanterns are off and your presence on earth is a memory.
i will be with you