How do you quantify the quench, until your tongue has choked on sand?

When can your heart feel the sap run,

if it hasn’t first been brittle enough to break with winter’s blast?

What will stir your soul’s song,

if it has not known silence?

How do you know you are home,

if you have never been gone ?

Where will you find Life, if you have not come back from the Dead?

Verdant only dances over bones;

Thirst is only slaked over sawdust.

Melody lives between hush and harmony;

Pulse is only remarkable

in the frame of

a ghost…