日志

Here is a story,
the hardest story to tell,
of a lover tossed on a sea
until,
no one can tell...
when sea became sand
when sand became wind.
No one can tell,
no one can know
the words of this song.
There is no one
in this world
who knows.
This is the story of being alone.
Even when you say you are there,
whenever you say hello
I know
what every bird in the sky knows
about the air,
it holds whatever secrets
are left untold,
breathed without a song,
sung without a word
unsaid in a thousand tongues,
this wordless song of love
spoken, but left unsaid.
Words that fall like the rain
into the earth and run away,
they do not grow
like a green stem,
like a sudden flower,
but like the crystal balls of tears
mysteriously appear
and disappear.
To know this story
better than any song
when it plays
and it says
to me,
"it is I",
is to know
how it sings
in a chord, upon a string, in a way
that only you and I can know,
…