A zephyr with
breaths of April after rain
whispered:
“sleep not this summer day.”
He stirred, woke up
and saw a heavenly face
eyes blue as the sky
and the skin of the apparition
had the hue of
unprofaned lips
only the newly born possess.
He smiled, reached out
to touch the divine being,
but it had disappeared in a miasma
of the everlasting,
leaving behind a hope as the sweet
scent of jasmine.
