We are light threads
Stretched between sky and earth
Like a giant lyra
Vibrating under cosmic fingers.
We are boxes with precious jewels
Carefully kept by artist lapidarist.
We are tubes of million colors
Entwined, never blended.
We are white silk veils’ dance
Frenetic or mild, hypnotic ballet.
We are tiny bottles of spring trees’ perfume,
Of mushroom essence, and morning daffodils.
We are cups of fresh grape juice,
Painfully sweet.
We are Santa’s big sac
Full of useless funny things
Dipped in pine balm.
We are windows to unseen light
Of other realm, enchanted.
We are whispers of love
Wrapped in a kiss.
We are bittersweet tears
Scattered in air by winds.
We are lost ego’s cry
Freezing, famished for light
In ceaseless winter night.
We are princes and ogres,
Witches and sages,
Entrapped actors
In a mad story,
The same one, since the beginning.
We are trees and mountains,
Rivers and oceans
Forgotten in immortality.
©️A. Garden, Nov. 2018
