Edita’s Reviews > The Curved Planks: Poems > Status Update

But it also seems to me that only the voice
That hopes is real, even when unconscious
Of the laws that would belie it. Only the hand
That trembles is real, touching the promise
Of someone else's hand.

O memory,
Your trees blossom against the sky:
We could almost believe that it's snowing.
But the thunder retreats down the path.
The evening wind sheds its excess seeds.