Saturday, March 19, 2016


In the silence that clings,
I wear your words
like a scarf around heart
and brace for unwelcome winds.

Choirs of our trees are in mourning by now
and blossoms are in indefinite strike.

I've left your address to migrating birds
whose elegies in south
will bring to your heart
the fragrance of my fallen leaves.

Be gentle when you listen to their lines,
my veins I've lent to their notes.