And what is there to believe in departures!You have always been leaving, my dearout where the cold winds fleeloneliness frosted with the moonand my blue gaze sewn onto your jacket of watery marble.
Look at your back in the mirror for oncesorrow has its eyes thereit watches me from the hollow of a tear.Tonight there is fire in the black forests of the cloudswith a firebrand in hand, the lightning does not stop setting trees ablaze.
Your staying grew old in the abyss of the heart…That lonely poplar my mother planted 50 years ago is mewith winter for a neighbor.At night the saze come, they weep, and leave like you
Up high the forests are dying outshining is the last thing the sun thinks of and doesit burns for warmth, tomorrowand goes to sleep in its own summer housebut where do you sleep?No one returns to me except my mind…
