Is this desire

Where the silence lurks
among these trees
like a woollen hammock.

The sky is thoughtfully gray.

A pipe-smoking sage
who writes the pleased words.

'Life seeps between the days
like missed happiness.'

Missed happiness:
at best it can be defined
as handful of wheat germs.

You do not miss happiness.

Sometimes you have to wait for it
breathtakingly long.

As for the silence, now.