Listen here

 

 

Far from sleep

my owl’s lonely

cry disperses

 

brume across the

sleeping fields:

lost chimney pots

 

I think of you:

my stubborn heart

unfolds its petals

 

carefully.

 

A world unrolls

from fingertip, &

I’m Scheherazade

 

spawning tales

for fools, while

you a songsmith

 

crafts each note:

a spell that I can’t

match unless we

 

match, this last time.