The day begins: a cold curtain shivering in the sun and rain.
A stone wall covers the rising sun.
So still and quiet;
the crow sits beyond the window pane.
Why does the crow not make a single sound?
The hummingbird comes and flies away.
The cobbled path looks like calligraphy
begun meticulously by some hand in the night
and abandoned in haste as the day strikes.

The whole of the night was lost in a game of chess, 
where the rules kept changing to encode
the victory of the hand of God.
The hand of God, the land of God
where I fall like a meteor 
and rise like a curtain flowing in the wind
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Originally shared by Tanya Dimitrova - 1 comment