If the river yet to be born floats down in a snowflake
Spring yet to return whispers among browning leaves
Shuffling with the steps of an unconceived child
Cutting into her skin
In elusive waves polishing her dreams
Unspeaking the secrets unshed
Between what has already gone and what has yet to come
Logged in the frozen desert of a woman half drowning
Between jaded rocks
Stones skipping over her heartbeat
Ricocheting on tortoise shells
Sheathing the air she breathes in
Defer to pulsating stars
Pooling along the horizon dividing
Darkness and dawn
No comments:
Post a Comment