"Green Is The Color"

You stand alone, you

pine tree on rocky mountainside.

You hands of needles, you

eyes of resin, sweet mouth evergreen

to the touch. You half stretching

towards – nothing – you

stinging smell of snow, you ever scratching

ever crystallized

spring. You circular hours falling

like rain on steep, barren days.

You moving blindly to unknown perfumed melodies

for a day – amber flowing on your cheeks

from your eyes, a flower

blossoming on your green lips

for a moment.

Elisa Sabbadin