I Wonder

*** (I Wonder) I wonder what present, what future to predict to you, me to you, with hands of leaves, with thoughts, lost into the torn canvas of someone else’s words, with a gait of a wave… A silence buries the hours and the alders remain candles. Yes, the homes are never enough. And there’s none whom to pray to among the dry flowers speechless but unique. And may the wind spin you through clefts of granite. With all my tenderness – into fall of the leaves.