The lantara camaras have sprung!
Through suffocation, they slipped beneath the threshold
Impertinent in living, they come.
Why shouldn’t the rare thing blossom?
I, too, know what it is to be on the dark side of the moon.

Behold,
Such vitality is not ours to rewrite,
However much of it is our offspring…
If a seed wishes to bud in a far away place
It will do so and it will flourish,
Worshipping the very wind that brought fruition.

Salve was both “hello” and “worship” to the Romans;
The most intimate way to prove one loves something
Is for one to graze it, to keep it.
Lantara camaras, bless your tender edges.
It is not not an easy thing, remaining soft during turmoil…

Alas, spring has sprung
And all ancient things have been gifted life once more!
Without time, what is there to love and to hold?
Why would love exist, if not in spite of our mortality?
The first person to say “I love you” was fleeting.
You, spring, must also leave…
But for now, I graze your small offerings.
Hello! Might we worship this life forever?