Snow in April

Water, be a string to my guitar.
It's difficult to remember my face in mirrors.
Be my memory that I may see what I lost..

I know who I was yesterday 
so who will I become tomorrow?

I will know that I perished here and left my best 
behind me; my past. Nothing remains for me except my guitar,
O water, be a string to my guitar. 

(--Darwish)

~

Crow falls to earth but there is no land in this land. A thin man in a vest cups him in his hands and presses down on the fallen bird. And in one swift, continuous circular movement stretches his arms to the sky, like a windmill, releasing the crow into the blue..the blue and the black. Sometimes there is the memory of April in the snow; and sometimes, ever so rarely, snow in April. 

~

And love isn't love,
until it's past.