It is I
by Clara Hsu

    Sitting alone
    in the garden
    facing a wall darkened by night.
    Vines climb all over stones
    in the moonlight,
    whispering secrets
    when the breeze passes through.

    I touch your face
    lightly, your eyelashes,
    your hair, your skin.
    You think it is the breeze
    that passes through vines.
    no...it is I.

    Dewdrops fall
    one by one,
    ethereal strings of pearls on your hands.
    The hour when night wakes into day,
    pale shade flowers with unknown names
    tremble as the earth turns cool.

    I kiss your eyes
    lightly, your heart,
    your mind, your soul.
    You think it is dewdrops
    that's gathered on your hands.
    no...it is I.






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