night comes with waves of perfume
the trance of flowers is quiet and only
the winds can touch the secret of trees, still
sleeping under the apple trees gives one deeper dreams
when darkness hunts me I remember
your empty hands against the form of light
how you struggle to find the archaic tune
the chronicles of the invisible unfolding
my mind recycles thought from sprout to seed
the vesper bell plunges the crickets,
the roundness of the heart deeper
into the hour of the dark