After the Rain
The earth exhales its oldest prayer, a scent of pine and moistened loam as raindrops surrender to the sun.
Archives: Poems
Letters to Yesterday
I wrote your name on folded sheets, then watched the ink bleed softly out across the paper grain.
When the Heart Speaks
When the heart speaks, it does not shout; it murmurs like a rising tide upon a tranquil shore.
Where Memories Stay
They do not vanish with the light, nor crumble as the seasons turn; they linger in the folds of air.
Between the Words
It is not what we speak aloud that holds us here, but all the gentle silences we dare to share.