Only earth angels hear the tender rippling
In the pounding rain we bare our quills,
reappear from veiled cages.
Bruises of the soul are slow to heal
but we are indifferent to pain.
Gardenias fill the room with mortality,
petals of sweet secrets nurtured by the
rhapsody of recollection.
Surrendering dreams makes us still,
and poetic breath dies with us.
We long for the scent of earth
infused in deep roots,
to hear again the swaying chimes on limbs
of a slender Linden synchronized for the