The forest that surrounds

My reverie is strange.
It bends and it rises,
it breaks and shatters,
it crushes.

The wind form time to time,
still lifts dead hearts of leaves,
melts them inside the black earth:
and he, as a symbol of rebirth,
lifts them up and they fall into the lake.
Rotten by the power of the water,
they bring to life lichen, mosses and nets,
as they are sick they look for cure in the sky.
They float with the drift,
like blown away by
God’s breath …