The poem that wrote itself

Dialog with
trees from the river
Snow is melting in great sunlight
And I stand in the forest
No wind, no sound
A great quietness
in the air,
in the ground,
in the river
What is the beauty of a tree,
The breath flowing through its branches?
Why do we not listen when a tree


 Dream the fear of death
 The I who lived here, 
 this shadow
 Clearly, it was two weeks
 As when a soul leaves the body,
 It feels until it passes to another body,    
 Everything comes down to a single thing
 It’s death
 everything else is contentment, and            

One response to “The poem that wrote itself”

  1. Beautiful! Love how you’ve paired the text with images…

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