Trees are like songs
In the air, sighing,
A green blush
To evening sky.

Raindrops on the windows
Are already starting to melt.
The mourning dove
Coos lost love.

I am a held breath,
Face turned to beaten sky,
Dark and purpled.
I am the bowl.

I am the collector.
Let it rain
Liquid solitude,
Translucent at dusk.