Miscellaneous:

[now&zen]

Song spills from her lips;
colorful words hang in the air
like wisps of dandelion,
and he plugs his ears
with flower petals
because his kite refuses to fly.

The melodies drift to his side
and he swats at them
impatiently as they wind
their way about his wrist,
curling around his fingertips.
He flicks the words away
and like drops of dew
they cling to the grass.

She lay face to face
with the blades, whispering
the ballad until its letters
join together to ascend
upon his tired hands.
He catches the jumble,
cups it like a firefly,
lowers his ear and listens.
She notices his lips twist
into a smile as he begins
mending a tear in his kite
with her lyrics.

He gathers her music like blossoms,
smears the fancy cloth
with brilliant colors from her tongue.
He feels the air tugging
at his kite; she watches
as he gently slacks the line
and the kite filled with song
waltzes in the morning sky.

With his free hand, he plucks
a few loose notes
from his bristly mane
and places them in the heavy
locket of copper
she holds out to him,
to preserve the harmony.