Plucked

[Lykren]

In silence
and in music,
the daylight proceeds
to become wine,
then deepest water.
You say I
struck you
but the limp caress
held no weight.
The bruise, too,
is lifted from the sky,
who wants no payment
but extension of her violet grace.

Sing low, lower than
the height of the cherry buds.
Float slow, slowly to the earth,
my hushed bundle of petals.
Give me your faintest hello,
and I will let you go.