Love moves like wind that stirs the silent trees,
It bends the bough but never breaks the stone.
It whispers truths in rustling melodies.

It pours like rain that falls on trembling seas,
Then leaves as sudden, and we stand alone—
Love moves like wind that stirs the silent trees.

It burns like sun through winter’s brittle freeze,
Then hides in clouds where shadows chill the bone.
It whispers truths in rustling melodies.

It grows like moss in darkened symmetries,
A quiet bloom where none had ever shone—
Love moves like wind that stirs the silent trees.

It carves through time like roots in centuries,
Reclaiming all we thought was carved in stone.
It whispers truths in rustling melodies.

So heed the hush of nature’s mysteries:
The heart is earth, the soul is overgrown.
Love moves like wind that stirs the silent trees—
It whispers truths in rustling melodies.

The pool's swirling
and the fish,
swimming in the dappled light,
have found me.

High currents are bursting at the rivers,
pouring Winter's splendour
to the cup of the sea.
Now sunlight will drink
from that eastern edge where its spilling gold bursts out --
and blinded, I will dip my fingers
in the wading wash of day.

Your word is kept by the promise of this:

a sun glowing in the brightness of dawn,
rivers flowing always to the sea,
grasses blowing in the summer's yawn,

so make your promise true to me.

Spray has christened the pines and firs in frost
at the waterfall.
Overtake me in the mist,
whirl your pointed pines
and infuse your senses
as you cover me in the spray.

Lapping idly,
bands swirling ankles with light:
weariless traveler.

-

When they fly back to northern shores,
assemble on the moonlit ice,
after long months of paradise
and call out to the darkening east:

the April Moon is for the Geese