When the day settles
into the embrace of dusk
when dawn gently touches
the dense deep-blue night
I invent names for trees
for the touch of rough bark
in the crown of an old alder
twelve whispers live
do you hear them now?
The unseen becomes fulfillment
as long as strings tremble
as long as a blackbird
watches the branches
swaying in the wind
this world can still be soft