One day the words we will see growing
long dry edge of night
cover distances and depths
they will praise the mercy
or small shoots that draw solitudes.
One day the words
blossom as reed buds
they will retain the light on the bedside tables
they will sing laugh
as if every smile
if only passion of fire.
One day the words will fall well
like November rain
burying thoughts
begin to grow unabated
between the pages of an old book
will dry tears
give relief and peace
while outside a storm
Nessun commento:
Posta un commento