„And mom, stones were changing
into butterflies, learning how to fly.”
The child was smiling,
tears gathering in beehives
became only dewdrops.
This time I was walking along
like a shadow,
counting leaves into rivers,
returning whispers to silence,
haunted by brown and dry colors,
with my eyes moist like tender stars rising
in the summer evenings,
with my heartbeat unleashing
the cold springs waterfalls
from bygone days.
Star light’s cinders are boiling quietly
within wheat grains tender milk,
seed cores are beating fast
to open blue sky’s heavy door,
frail shadows are swept by winds
winnowing grasses scents,
the clouds swallow their tears
over a hot steamy mirror.
The sun is silently turning a clock
under well’s cold waters,
new songs spring out from depths
feeding flights and ripe fruits.
In the evening brides and grooms palms sit down
listening to earth’s heartbeat.
In this time flight
of a late summer silence
I stretch faraway large wings
for the never defeated windmills
endless comeback to spring sources
grinding smoothly warm grains of words
tasting like teardrops or half-opened smiles
gathering in stockpiles dawn’s harvest
in daily dreams granary ~
I still breathe along with the fields
washed by storms wiped with rainbows