Virginia

of her, who sings the shy nocturne on the edge of the pier, ancient wind gathers the aura
of her, dressed in ether lace over the fabric of cloud patterns
of her, dipping stars of ache in luminous water, their soft lilies opening with a miracle of waves

 

notes fall at the feet of a quiet mountain

from
sky
to
soul

in threads, as fibers of moon jute spelled to gentle silk

in phials of spring incense, spilling on bleak soil

 

‘have you heard the pavane of cottonwood trees?’, someone asks, cradling a sea-bird wounded in the tempest

 

such hours flow from simple reverence

dust, earth, dew scars on flowers are what sustains the harmony when tear-shaped minutes are voids scattered on shoulders

from tales of everything vulnerable, suites of the infinite against the dread of screaming world

 

to witness such beauty is to carry fragile leaves to canto of life, to anchor the ship from an alien century in a harbor of understanding

‘each nuance of melody, each transition here and beyond’, she answers and turns around

 

tears are raindrops, raindrops that write confessions on sand

and this is the way heart is the spread of air music in the sphere of breathless lands

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