the oaks above rustle their leafy hands at me
soft the night wind moves my hair
the water whispers of deep secrets
and i attend the crickets' concert.
the quiet creeps in my veins
and my languid eyes close.
my mouth bleeds poetry
because his voice haunts me
hovering, echoing in my ears.
until dawn peeks her face over the hills
we grieve, the night and i.
