Author: Andrea Karlmann
Open in silence
When it came to me,
Bit by bit,
It was a piece.
A fragmented piece.
A series of sounds,
Fragrant and raspy.
Just a mutter
At first.
Then a touch
Of motherly warmth.
Walking into a room
A leaf had landed on the windowsill,
So, I tossed it out.
A strange intrusion.
Just a leaf.
No one was to blame.
Just the wind.
Moved
Enthused, unready for sense,
Or the redolence of
Affection,
Infused with motion,
Passions set the pendulum in swing,
Turns and turns,
Ambrosia’s ash,
Ebbing, bending and broken.
Away anathema.