I may not know your name yet,
but I dream of warm, delicate sunset

where I sense you in the sweetness
of summer watermelons

you are too far, distant to fetch
like stars, my hands unable to catch.

I may not know the color of your eyes,
but I would recognize your kindness,

a tender gesture of a stranger passing by
when tired day spits me out

and my heavy, wrinkled sigh is caught
in a gentle grip and contagious smile.

I may not know of your past
but I would hear your silent prayer

where you long for fragile moments
those diamond years crushed to dust,

for missed glittering winter dawns,
erased touch, forgotten so fast.

I may not know your language yet,
but you and only you would understand

the story I’m about to tell:
a story of a girl who’s eagerness ignites

leaves the trail of light behind.
Feathered step, rose petals that excite

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