The rite of Persephone
Pastels burn the ash smeared on glass,
winter’s talisman rests broken.
What great burden springs from the grass –
bright shadow, leave me your token:
plucked imaginings catch the breeze,
reawaken songs in the trees –
let me hear them pine for the seas.
O symphony, echo so deep,
reveal your secrets kept below,
a spell against the death of sleep,
charming measures to move so slow –
the hours stop. Deceived, I cry,
fragments climb to embrace the sky,
compose the most beautiful lie.