softly, she weeps
warm tears caressing,
tracing her contours.
a breeze, so soft,
moves through her.
it's silent tonight,
and so is she.
tendrils of green,
sway above her.
a dance of despair,
of solace and sadness.
and she joins
and she floats
and she moves with this wind.
she thinks and she thinks,
of ephemeral air.
how it stirs and it moves,
then dissipates and departs,
only to sweep
across mountains and valleys.
she wishes to be,
no more than a breeze.
gentle but strong,
to be felt by all
yet seen by none.
the willow above
with its weeping green,
grazes her cheeks,
and beckons her gently
to join with those currents,
in their invisible journey.
and so her body fades
into mere particles.
she stays silent throughout,
until she too
becomes,
an ethereal gale.
and in her place,
there is now emptiness.
and the willow still weeps
with joy for her freedom ,
in despair that she's gone.
not meant to rhyme.
