Whispering Branches
When heavy words began to fall
lightly down,
from leaf to leaf they landed and dropped.
When superfluous ones disappeared,
their monotone faded,
inflections stilled—
leaving luxurious silence,
birdsong and the gentle wind.
Took us back to a time
when our feet were soft,
walking a carpet of pine needles,
drinking their fresh scent—
to a place where sound
meant the waving branches high above,
Spirit’s gentle whisper
blowing lush green breezes between them.
That is when I felt
your breath on my cheek in the sunlight,
sometimes quicker, sometimes slower,
in an endless musical prose.
That was when you found poetry,
half asleep in a pastoral dream
next to me.
The breeze blew through the spaces where we danced,
while the sky rattled
millions of green castanets
that fell to your face
in a whisper of love,
like your breath on mine,
as I wrote it all down.
c. Triada Samaras 2002 (editied 2025)
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