Forgettable


Spring will speak to the fragrance of lemon,
familiar with the jar of Lethe. 

Waiting for the small pioneer 
on the unknown hill,

skin will sell all these emotions 
for what we have been allowed.

In the gap where bonding and parting breathe together,

witnessing the settling of springs 
will be enough to embrace shifts 

rather coughing in the winter’s end.

Walking along the flowing river,
eyes will practice erasing loss into the visible.

A reply to the seed of destinies, 
will cover the last tongue, tasting the blanks. 

Sleeping in the mute,
the words will whisper through
all farewells.