Through the forest of trees from your lips

   I can read your unspoken words.

       As each leaf falls

   the view becomes much more clear.

       Words that once reverberated through the forest

   seem as lifeless as the fallen leaves at my feet.

        I await a rush of fresh air

    to stir and animate the dead silence around me.

Never allowed to grow
Beyond ornamental,
Small perfect leaves
On small well pruned branches;
To please the eye
Of miniature torturers.


Cramped in a micro life,
Roots restrained
Within un-natural boundaries.
The promise of a tree
Never really fulfilled,
Beyond a whisper.


Fussed over relentlessly,
Like an O.C.D.
Perfect shape and form,
Trained from natural beauty,
To sit on a shelf
Hidden from reality.

Солта е (гора) иглолистна

Целогодишната истина

Чиито очи цветовете Ти не сменят

..*,

Salt is… (a forest) coniferous

Truth perennial

Whose eyes don’t ever shed your colors