Hyacinth garden

the fog of words

calling an ear

not a nod or a pause or a thought

only the wait of breath

whispers on the wind

innocent and sweet

only the weight of breath repeating

enhance the tales spun

altitude in every word

thin syllables



then reach for the sun

    rising from fingertips to lips


      lighter than air


like fragrant hyacinths

soar on


    embrace a breeze the    

rise in the wind

      then descend

but never too low

and then sigh

      in the afterglow

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