She always voices
the truth in light to anoint...

Like a little sparrow
lost in the rain...

They stole our liberty
though...

Do you remember
in cold winters...

When a poet chants
a songster is ensnared...

Would a soldier abandon his post
in his grinding fatigue...

So much passion altering from feeling to...
measuring the seas with the concavities of rugged...

Imperfection is
the prove of perfection...

First the space
was an assumption...

Sparrows are benign,
their textures are so fine...

Corroding in sinews,
blooming in soul...

Speechless is the word.
Poetry is too loud...