It’s been

Several years

Since the fairies sang

The lament of the rain

Under the shivering sun

-dull, dirty yellow-

Several weeks

Since he last saw

The sparrow’s dance

On my heartbeat

And a bloom

-any bloom except for those ghastly guardians of white marble.

Several moments

Since the thick, black cold

Since the eyelid closure

Since the raw fear

The regret

Since the smudge on my face

And the rain

Again.

But the fairies

-those sly, little creatures-

are tired of singing

Anymore.