A Little Wingbeat 

A little wingbeat
becomes a prism
and reflects upon the windowpane.

In the empty bedroom,
only the curtains
stir softly.

Hey―you’re there, aren’t you?
Invisible,
yet the light brushes my cheek.

Clouds dance along the mountainside,
maple leaves streak down the road
with the wind,
like an end-credits roll.

Beyond that,
the light
gently calls me forward.

Dazzling,
tender,
the warmth seeps deep into my chest.

It fills
to my very marrow,
holding me
as if in an embrace,
never letting go.

The post 小さな羽音（音のない世界）A Little Wingbeat first appeared on mariepoetry.