Wind blows through trees without a rustle

And breathes white flowers across emerald hills:

Petals skipping over swaying grass,

Carried to the ocean through dewy clouds;

The hills call back, longing, for absent alabaster friends.

Two people dance beneath a single tree now

Rustled by playful wind.

Crimson pools beneath their feet with every step

As new flowers arise with each springing.

They glance behind; waves glimmer against steep cliffs

And the sea wells into pools filling the cracks

Just as the two have poured and welded themselves

Together.