In the hollow of this secret stream
where the water is as thin
as skin dappled by lips.
A curled stone skipping
into shadows. The absence
of breath, this silence
we have scooped into our hands,
how the years have poured
through our fingers.
In the hollow of this secret stream
where the water is as thin
as skin dappled by lips.
A curled stone skipping
into shadows. The absence
of breath, this silence
we have scooped into our hands,
how the years have poured
through our fingers.