The days follow
each other. We
rise and drink
our tea, we eat
our bread. We
walk and we walk
and though we don’t
stop, the journey
changes. We are
like the river,
pulled along.
No. We are
the perfume
of wild roses—
though the flowers
bloom behind a fence,
their sweetness braids
into the breeze
with a beauty
so ungraspable
even sunlight can’t touch it
and darkness can’t find it,
and mygod, it’s sweet,
incomprehensibly sweet.