Dance of the Giants -

The Giants -
they dance tonight.

Days, weeks - years
pass as brief hours
in their long,
still, lives; they stand.

Stand,
and ruminate the quiet ruminations
of the secrets
only the trees recall. The trees
that guard the cottage
on the hill, the trees
that dance
every hundred years.

Inside? Inside that sad,
soon to be vacated,
cottage? Inside dance
the smells of old coffees,
mothballed memories and wood
smokes wrapped comfortably
in the sweet blanket
of melancholic melodies and past
pitches and muds -

Inside, dances the memory
of an Angel - of faded
laughters.

Inside? Inside sits the man
who remembers what even
the trees have forgot.

_{(January 16, 2011 @ 03:15)}