Wind of Light

The wind is memory that does not cease, sowing lights in the cracks
Little flowers of light germinate between iron and concrete
The city sleeps, yet a breath lifts it from its slumber
Through the alleys whispers a time that refuses to fade
Every sigh ignites a dawn bud on the window sills
The steps of the living and of silence become roots
The night bends, and light rises among the palaces
Thus memory, cultivated by the wind, blooms in the cracks