I wander through a wild spring
on weary roads and wilted words,
and dream of being woken from
this stupor, by the chirps of birds
like drops of water in the air,
plainly, purely, they would ring

Longing for a light caress,
a whiff of zephyr from the west
to stir the stagnant leaves inside;
to lift up with a sudden zest
this leaden burden in my chest:
to carry off what I confess

(I swim in guilt and gilded gloom
as stagnant as an old duck pond
How long have I just held my breath,
not looking up to see beyond?)
I wander through an empty spring:
a daffodil without a bloom.