Once we loved. 
Then, we parted. 
My wings became arms again. 
I speak now and seldom sing. 
But some things can never be as before. I pay attention now to different things 
 I hear the tiniest insect move beneath the ground.
Small hopes keep me alive 

like the way leaves 
still sometimes 
from the stumps of trees.

1 comment:

  1. Sono incantata da questi lavori meravigliosi ...