sharingpoetry:

4.

How many strange secrets
have we told the flowers,
in hopes that this delicate balance
can tell us the weight of passion.

The stars are all troubled
from being mixed with our heartaches.
And from the strongest to the weakest
none no longer tolerate

our varying moods
our uprising, our cries —,
except the untiring table
and the bed (unconscious table).

From The Orchards

(submitted by nthword)