Sunday, July 20, 2014

All night, the rain is falling

for my sister

A leaning tale told times two, in tandem,
an astonishment of light-patterns,
the mountains blush in shadow-stencils,
and still the leaves, they are murmuring.

For past pairs of torn wings, and crushed voices,
further gifts hide behind fastened doors
where a gilded rain descends, silence sings,
music returns to a source of its wanderings.

A dyad of aspens stands at the head of my path,
formed from a single seedling. A body is dust,
yet breathes, a grateful heart, in a column of light;
and melody blossoms from a choir of wounds.

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all is translation (and every bit of us is lost in it)

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