there is grandeur
around every corner
and it is
in the trees
and on the
leaves that
have collected
themselves on
the sides of roads.

sometimes it ebbs
forth from dented
speakers serenely,
quickly and it fills
the mouth
the nose
the eyes and most
importantly, the ears.
it fills the lungs
and stops everything.

the room gets
quieter, warmer
even though the nights
come swiftly and time
emanates relentlessly,
still out of reach
but still somehow alright.

and these, our torn hearts,
we mend every time
using stronger cords
and wiser stitching
believing that
each time we
have immunized
our rickety pumps.

nevertheless, the storms
always come and
they bring their love
with their spears, knives,
and cold razors.