On each line
lays buried,
a vanished river;
a brief history
of my pain.
Like criss crossing veins
on the plane of a leaf
they create patterns;
a map of my inner strife.
In solitude
I yearn,
a hunger inexplicable
in words, burns inside;
a new leaf
with eclectic patterns
is magically born,
my moment of
serendipity blooms.
I feel the warm kiss
of sun on my tender leaf