Immortal

My love won't decay in soil 
or burn on pyres of sandalwood,
nor will its ashes scatter 
in a river.

Come—
when an age has passed your skin
and muses have abandoned 
the ruins of your soul—
you will find my poems 
still whispering your name
in unfading pigments 
of fallen leaves.

I have written you 
on rain–scented pages of earth,
along creases of horizon where 
sky folds on oceans,
deep in elements and stones

in words, neither erased by tides 
nor forgotten by winds.