She tucked letters under her arms,
tying them with rosemary...

Half past midnight,
and one moment I was lying sleepily on my bed...

Here, I am the little prisoner,
hunched over a cherry wood table...

There is peace in my soul,
when I rest my eyes on the hills where...

This won't be very long, I promise,
because words aren't substitutes for memories...

I can't seem to let things go-
last night I returned from a place...

I am not documented by my thoughts
but by touch...

Was it that long ago I was restricted,
by soldiers of our country wearing...

Spring has a certain sound,
unlike any composition orchestrated...

She chanced love,
throwing fate like two red hot dice...

Is it possible to only exhale
questions when the breaths we take...

Already over, these vines playing
angry melodies upon my palm...