morning dew like honey on a thin slice of silence - a pause in the story;
you’re wondering whether too much was said and the cup may overflow.
close your eyes, take a sip from this refreshing absence;
hydrangeas change colours in your garden as summer fades away:
frail petals, sweet on the wind’s tongue -
they expect the arrival of a new orchestra of foliages and whispering trees,
evanescent music for the days of self-forgetting;
a new beginning seems so obvious here, at the end of the world:
its asymmetric pattern grows around the old (overwritten) story like ivy;
no more borders between memory and dreams:
just a river of smoke and dead flowers rushing towards the forgiving ocean;
the seagulls’s screams make you no longer feel besieged, bereft, beset…
be brave! chin up! in no time you’ll be gift-wrapped for the stars.