On the Threshold of Spring

Do you hear, my love? the murmur of your garden’s leaves that all swirled through the mountains and have now come back, echo upon echo, toward you. Do you hear the song of the swallows that gathered above your roof and set deep within every brick and stone the songs of another season’s coming? Like me, put your ear to the cold wall of the cell and listen, my love, to the call of the spring that is coming with the gush of green through the cracks of the stones and bricks; with certainty, with certainty, like a calendar that sheds its earlier leaves and comes toward Nowruz ...