Pleasures

In this house I feel closer to the moist obscurity of grass
I can hear the garden breathing
And the sound of darkness when dropping from a leaf
And the sound of a light coughing from behind a tree
I can hear the sniffing of water through the crack of each rock
I can hear swallows dripping down from the spring’s ceiling
And the clear sound of opening and closing windows of solitude
And the pure sound of love vaguely casting off its skin
And the condensation of longing to fly in the wing
And the cracking of the soul’s resistance
I can hear the sound of footsteps of longing
And the sound of footsteps of blood’s law in the vein
The pulse of dawn in the pigeon’s well
And the sound of rainfall on the eyelid of the lover’s body
Over the sad music of puberty
Over the song of pomegranate groves
...(by s.s.)