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| White wash of Portugal, GypsyTalesTM |
Across rivers,
bridges and boulders
there's a place where time
stands still
if you listen closely
you can hear the whisper
so gentle; pulling you in
the sound of silence
like parthenope wrapped in silk
on the shores of naples
calling out your name
against the white wash
if you run fast enough
you can catch glimpse of moonshine
in the ebony black river
the coldness cutting into flesh
the fragility of our mortality
in the shadow of moonshine
is a space where no land exists
in the darkness of the soul.
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