A place to fall
While standing up again
A place to call
In sunny days or rain
There is spring blossom and there is ruin
Vast silence and sweet whisper
There old men recall and memories run
Now with breaths short as if final winter
A place to fall
In spring or an August night
When all around have lost their soul
For that place far in flight
But
There is little left in that place
A name, a balcony, a clay pot of jasmine
Blooming in the long night and space
Where the sea met its sand, and missed the last dance
May 21, 2017
© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2017
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