softly, she weeps
warm tears falling,
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 moves with the wind.
she thinks and she thinks,
of ephemeral air.
how it stirs and caresses,
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,
and she leans to the tree,
the drapery of leaves
enfolding her like a lover.
if one were to glance
at the willow tree,
they would see a girl no longer there
would see only tendrils of green,
swaying in the wake of some wind.
in her place,
there is now a silent emptiness.
and the willow still weeps
with joy for her freedom,
in despair that she's gone.