Bench

Brush a stencil on a seat,

Carve the bark; lend an ear.

The quiet grass

And silence bears

A tepid stream of river, here.

On the wood, pencil-worn,

All the words and lovers lorn

Sing sweet graffiti:

Hearts and tears.

Their etchings held, tender dear.

A blanket black and warmly brief,

Calls the night, which, softly speaks:

Childish wishes,

Longing dreams.

From nothing, something comes to be.