magnolias were dying slowly along the road side.

they were dying like the blinks of some eyelids
over the black holes of gazes
swallowing all the light around them.

or like some butterflies.

or like some waltz steps
suddenly too tired of music.

and in all this time on our soles grew paths,
with their roots deeply sunk in calculations and statistics,
lowering us into valleys and rising us upon mountains
and bending us from our waist all the way to the ground
making us search for the ant hills in which we were born.

magnolias were dying slowly along the road side
and god was picking their petals one by one
to later make from these
suns and rain and harrowed hearts and tomb stones
and ant hills
for us.

– Liliana Negoi

© 2015, poem, Lilian Negoi, All rights reserved