ABSTRACT
deep in the dense compacted branch there is the whisper of the bud - - will she come? - I cannot tell she comes from heaven and from hell - high in the spare impassive air suspends a space that may suspire - - is she here? - I cannot say she may be near or far away - bold now the sweet transgressive buds tease the discretion of their branch - - does she speak? - I am not sure she uses words not heard before - wide in the loud candescent air the shock of blossom in blazing choir - - is she real? - I do not know she leaves a trail of burning snow - fall away and fade : fall away and grieve - we will always be traduced by love.
