BIRD.

 

 

 

Time flows down into carved spirals,

Becoming countless leaves, piling up deep,

Dancing intricately each time they threaten to disappear,

Silently covering everything.

Even if everything changes,

Nothing changes.

This palm, here;

That palm, there.

 

Those unique things,

Why do they exist?

Even if silence creates distance,

The sensation felt between fingers

Breathes, oblivious to time.

Unknown to anyone else,

It resonates directly.

"Why do you worry?"

A voice asks curiously, and when I look up,

There is

A deep, constricting blue and

A clear sky, like a love letter.

 

 

 

 

 

 To be continued.