Like an albatross,she spread her elongated wings.
She stared at the endless green of the Alpine terrace.
The silhouette of the vanilla-flavoured mountains
Was infected by the dense music of the mercurial moonlight.
In the midst of that eternal silence,she could hear the rings
Of the distant explosions of the supernovae.Her olive iris
Scanned the valley for the last time-suffering under the drizzle
Of the meteors-she was trembling with a frightening delight.
She jumped gently,into the misty cavern of the infinite.
The Pines slowly climbed upwards to touch her countenance,
But in vain.She fell assiduously,like a renegade cataract,
From the lofty serenity of the snowy,sagacious rocks.
And she fell on the velveteen grass bed,like a rotten kite.
I could hear a last scream disappearing into the violet.Dense.
Gently did I take some steps forward,tried to construct
Her shadow,lying amidst the roars of the Azalea on the hilltracks.
The crystals of confusion had boycotted my voice,"Anne?"
Her lifeless lips curved a smile,in the embrace of a wind...sylvan.