Fragments of heart
To walk trough the path
holding hands with the clouds
and drink at the source
with unquenchable spirit
Fragments of soul
as we hide within time
our garden prayers at dusk
the only forms of twilight unseen
as feverish inner laments
Fragments of memory
next to the treehouse and windmills
an ocean is ever so close
and that’s enough in itself
to breath in gratitude and fear
Fragments of being
silence bleeding silence
from the shores no one drowns
unless
the tide is inside
poem and photography by Marco Pignataro
