It’s dusk and it’s not raining but I want to stay with you under your umbrella. I want to gaze at its broken ribs; I want to hear the creaking of its joints. And I want to look at your eyes: something stings in the rust resting in your lashes. I hear waves roaring, I sense the songs of the sons and daughters of the sea.
Why should the children of fire seek the shed of an umbrella tree? Are they afraid of the smoldering breath of God? Lilies lie on the lapof the valley where volleys of mortars have never tasted the sweetness of silence.
I long for the lilies, for their lies: there’s not truth in flowers; not even in the soil their roots turn to dust. Open me, release my breath; let the wind recharge me with the scent of the lilies. Engulf my sorrow with the serenity of its petals