nothing is left but
dancing with the willow tree
beneath the wings of nightingales
the space of tales for butterflies;
a breeze I crave to be.
one with the air
an unexpected dissolution of my flesh
its holes, the empty space in every atom of my body
the I am,
the being beyond being
a flash of the intangible
the architecture of the presence unveiled our love
our only meaning.
©Daniela Marin, Flashes from the flesh – work in progress