heavy with rocky snowfalls from such endurance
It’s his motionless breath that fissures our walls in the night when one winter hand
power over to another
The deaf bluetit’s wing-beats count for nothing
nor the mother’s invectives guilty of having grouted the tiles with her tears
erosion polished up by subtle windsEverything smiled at us
and the mother who wore her tears around her neck like warm-sea pearls
counted them on our fingers that grew with the Persian lilac, the only one to
sympathize with our sorrows