Page 51 - The_Lizard
P. 51
To mom.
She was born along flamboyant trees
she the soul of the rain
the cry of spring.
Her eyes
a continuous bridge to the root
of everything that blooms or fades
pause at the details
to preserve them in the beating
of a heart without limits.
Everyone wrote the story of your days
until your silence became
ink drawing verses
because you knew you were never a number
but a poem sung
in victory or in ruin.
Your hands so tired of giving
have touched the most broken parts of me.
Dance oh silver spirit!
in this body of roses
my home for months
my refugee forever.
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