For eons piano keys unmoved Lay silently asleep

But I bloom like a flower:/ Soft and strong.

Autumn transcended Winter– / Crispness in the air fell pale.

rise, rise—now evening dies: sun-born in valleys with burning olive trees—where  women like me plod one day at a time,

For once, can love look like a Sunday morning; filled with warmth, calmness and motionless?

Sweet cold air finds its way to my lungs,

wounded limbs heal faster, / than a wounded conscience

There are no clocks inside this house. The walls are quiet, the windows loud.

Lacerating the unfortified,/ Picking at the flesh for bad blood to find

What happens when your desire Lies in being alive?

Bury your feet where its green And when the air is thin you will see 

His five sons/ Were killed and the books...

She’s as real as my meandering/ As tangible as tinkering.

Once a homebody, nestled in its embrace. Now lost, a wanderer in a boundless space.

Seven feet of mud swept water, /Bodies under rubble.

She doesn’t need an alarm For the last hour of the night.

Her Kohl-rimmed eyes, dangling earrings,/ The chiffon scarf, the satin silk shirt

Would it be too much to ask you/ To forgive me for the carnal sin I did not commit?

What makes You a boy, me a girl; Me a popper, you an Earl?

Crimson blood splattered amongst the ravaged lands