The Dewdrop's Dilemma

On the veined silk of a leaf,
where dawn paints golden veils,
a pearl of sky that does not dissolve,
still, a silent breath of grace.
The line neither weighs nor bends,
it is no dream’s shadow, no vanished name,
but a tiny heart that attaches itself
to an invisible thread, to its own way.

Suspended between the abyss and the green plain,
between the promise of a slow flow
and the moment that grips its hand
to the slender wrist of a timid surfacing.
A game of tensions, a refusal to
fall down, a blind desire
to inhabit the curve, to hold
the exact weight in a tiny echo.

And the sun rises, its warmth invites
to dissolve the spell, to free
the fragile secret of a life
that awaits a sign to give itself away.
But its is a delay, a subtle pulse,
an entire universe in clear crystal,
before becoming river, of becoming docile
memory of water in a rare embrace.