sylvan

there are no words in some songs
as there are no answers to some questions.
does a tree realize why leaves fall
or why blizzards arrive
or why the drought withers its sylvan essence
that strives to reflect immaculate heights?

what’s left is to grow upwards
shaped with whatever wonder or miracle it cannot see
but feels in the ways of breeze.
and maybe to breathe like this
is to shimmer a tune for the linger of a moment
giving a way to infinite silence.
to flow the shadow as a deep acceptance
of what it blooms to still stay visible
to fragility of moon and softness of the sun.
because what this gravity is for
but to live eternity of his piano flight

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