Perhaps I was a child spoiled by my mother
I was willful
I wished
Every moment
was as beautiful as a colored crayon
I wished I could draw
On the beloved white paper
Drawing the freedom of clumsiness
Drawing an eye that never <
The eye that weeps
A sky
A feather and a leaf that belongs to the sky
A pale green night and an apple
I wish to paint mornings
The smiles that the dew
Can see
The smiles of all the youngest
Part of a love that is free from pain
She has not seen a cloud
Her eyes are the color of the clear sky
She will always look at me
Always, looking
Never suddenly drop her head
I would like to paint distant landscapes
Paint clear horizons and watery waves
Paint many, many happy streams
Paint the hills --
Growing pale fuzzy hair
I keep them close together
Make them love each other
Make every silent promise
Every burst of quiet springtime excitement
Become the birthday of a little flower
I want to paint the future, too
I want to paint the future
I don't know what it is, I want to paint the future.
I've never seen her, and I can't
But know she's beautiful
I paint her fall trenchcoat
Painting all those burning candles and maple leaves
Painting so many hearts extinguished by love for her
Painting weddings
Painting the festivities of waking up one morning after the next --
Topped with glass candy paper
and illustrations of northern fairy tales
I was a capricious child
I wanted to paint away all misfortunes
I wanted to paint all the windows on the earth
so that all the eyes accustomed to darkness
all accustomed to the light
I want to paint the wind
the mountain ranges that are taller than one another
the longing of the Oriental peoples
the sea-
the boundless pleasant sound
and finally, on the corners of the paper
p>I'd also like to draw myself
Draw a tree bear
He sits in the dark Victorian slave forest
Sitting on a peaceful branch
Frozen
He has no home
No heart that stays in a faraway place
He has only, many,many
Berry-like dreams
I'm hoping
I'm thinking
But somehow
I didn't receive a crayon
I didn't get a colorful moment
I only have my
My fingers and traumatic pain
Only to tear up that piece of
beloved white paper
.Let them go in search of butterflies
Let them disappear from this day
I am a child
A child spoiled by a fantasy mother
Love diary
I seem, at last
touch the moon
Green, oozing blue
It's a piece of very thin metal button, I believe
Nailed to the purple velvet sky
Started, started very cold
The floating handkerchief
Stopped
Stopped, drifted away again
On the brown Samoan shores
The bride is walking to the ocean
Don't, don't imagine
Behind the eternal canopy
there's going to be a Pair of white doves
Sleeping, loosening their wings
Just forgotten kisses
Still warming the southwesterly winds of home
No, there is no flight
February, 1982
It is indeed the world
It is indeed the world
A holiday for the lilacs
She's there, talking to a companion
She's nineteen
Behind her are April and May
I see her clearly
In the middle are the fields
I see you clearly in your lightest hair
A purple storm is drifting across the fields
A pretty storm, O pretty storm
How do you like the lake
How many do you want, the loose otter ones
The flowers are tattooed with rolls of thin gold
How many do you want, is that enough
The corollas are strewn on red gummy soil
I answered no, I answered
May, June, July
Morning breaths are a little hotter
Those flowers are a little farther away
I haven't lived in the world
July 1983
White night
In the Eskimo's snow hut
Burns a
whale light
It burns thick
Shakes thick shadows
Shakes sleepy paddles and homemade clocks
The Eskimo Man
He was young, and the sun never
Crossed over his head
Blessed him with brown whiskers
He could only lie gravely on
White bearskin and listen to how the ice
Bursts in the distance
Crystalized shards and glides through the storm
He thinks of life
He thinks about life p>His wife
Wearer of beloved strings of glass beads
From on high, tossing pallets
of freshly exchanged clothes
at him
Burying his mighty, sluggish questions
He had only her
himself, and the faintly bobbing Arctic Ocean
A whale's light
July 1981
Return
Many warm-brown birds
disappeared at
Earth's End
A flock of mighty albizia trees
was calling me to go with them
They were my traveling companions
The wood grain in their hearts
wanted to be as beautiful as an echo
I can't face their call
I smile
I can't say, no
I know they're going for
that metal moon
To wipe
with their hands
affectionately
The wet earth from it
I can't say, no
Can't honestly answer
That piece of moon
I lost it
I lost it on purpose
Because I liked it
For some reason
And to lose it where it could be found
Now that they're gone
Don't ask, all right
Shut the wooden windows
Don't listen to the news from the riverbanks
Let that sail fall still
I want to see
your whole sky
Don't ask me about my past
The stale coral trees
The city that floats in mud and flotsam under the water
The boat has come alongside
The roads have disappeared in foam
I'm back. p>
I'm back
That's the whole story
I'm going to let go of my shoulder pocket
Let it fall to the floor
With a heavy thud
Thinking is not moving
I'm tired
I'm going to dance
To be in the transparent flames
Become as easy as ashes. Easy
Don't ask, I'm tired
Tomorrow is still on the other side of the night
It's still a long way off
Fish in the Arctic Ocean
Now, won't dream about us
I'm tired, so tired
I want to rest for a moment in your gaze
May 1982
Not Goodbye
We've been saying goodbye for two years
What happens to goodbyes
It's always goodbye
Tonight, you're really going away
Really going away, not goodbye
What else is needed?
Hands are cold, no handkerchief
Is it a letter? A letter?
In that world of paper stacks
there was a garden of ours
We used to roam the garden
drawing patterns on the clean steps
We danced with the patterns
jumping, forgetting that the sky was dark
The huge sparks were still spinning slowly
Now, it is better to let the The flame read through
It smiles brightly
How warm it is
How I'd like you to look at me again
And yet, no, the smoke's drifting away
You go away, the love hasn't burned out
The road's still visible
Go away, farther and farther
When it all fades away in a bugle's song
And you will see the fence of dawn
Please open the flap of that fence
Stand still, stand still
Sleep peacefully like a flower
You will get the sun in silence
Get the sun, that's my wish
October 1981
Peeling back the pomegranate
On the Andaman Sea Drifting free
Stone on the Andaman Sea
I reach out my hand
and giggle to God
We need a glass of sweet wine
Each waking up alone
Can see a sea of sorrow
Sagacious stars
Like a blanket of snow
Slowly sloshing in front of my eyes Drifting
Just like that without end
The greatest purgatory is the pipe
One tooth
A few dusty froths of light
God has never relied on making something out of nothing
How much longer will those lights have to live
Soft hands are praying over and over again
Songs from the other side of the sea
It's the same song
Gently pecking through our universe
February 1984
Waiting for dawn
This night
The winds were quiet
The bridge railings like bamboo worms
Crawled silently
Carrying away the little bushes of the twilight and
His lover
I was waiting
The bells
Sinking into the ocean
The limestone churches are dissolving on the shore
Are turning into a sandy soil
After a terrible downpour
To be warm and wet
I waited
I stood
Covered in bright tears
I stood alone
High above the happiness
High above the sky so heavy that it no longer trembles
Top of the brownish-gray column
A white cloud rested
At last
The ball fell apart
A group of bat-stars passed by
They wore brooches of gold
They squeaked:
You're so silly,
the lamps are asleep
all have given themselves to the mediocre darkness
the shadows have all gone home, go away
nobody knows that you
need
this kind of loyalty
and so on
You do know
you need
You light over all the stars and lamps
I know it too
And when all is still
After everything goes out in sleepy disappointment
You will come
Only then will you come from behind
Close to me
Before the first birdsong wakes up
Take off your long, pale-green scarf
You are the dawn
February 1982
Superimposed Shadows
I am a warrior of the East with a golden helmet
My short sword has the Sun Jewel
I cross the ocean and there is no one who can stop me
I don't have an imaginary sister
If I had a sister, I'd want to be like her
Souls like her can't be distinguished.
She's in the front, she's in the back, and the soul's in the middle
Long hair soaked through her dressing gown
She wouldn't let her black hair fall apart in the spring
She lives in a forest of shining cedars
The stream is thin and shiny under every tree
The slow iron axe strikes in the depths
Old Thunderbolt worked as a woodcutter, too.
Footprints of translucent silver were left everywhere
There was mud even in the clear sky
Dark clouds, like a flock of strange birds, perched on the bottom of the pool
She would not suddenly disappear with a roar
She would not be afraid that I would surpass myself
She would not raise and set down the red earthenware vase
The timid beasts were painted upon it
The cedar wood, only it shines day and night
Sections make up paths in the water
The red shell is the roof of her dwelling
She closes the wooden door and never comes out
There are no lamps outside the dense hedge
The little monkey's tail curls up into a ball
What flickers on the breath of the male swineherd
Sighs that are Fiery, fiery sighs
No more sighs, no more hedges
The flow of life has no beginning and no end
O barefooted spring, walking on the wet ground
The shadow of the mint grass is extraordinarily cool
I will love her clear as a brother and sister
As a small fish born in the same spring water
I will spread myself Scattered among the knocks
I will gather into the shadows of her water
June 1982
The age of understanding
Everyone is looking at me
All the flaming fingers
I avoid the sunlight and walk among the side cypresses
Not to look at the spring of the women
Green bricks in the red meadow
Men as hairy as big banyan trees
I go to the cafeteria to eat
Wooden chopsticks tapping there
Diagonal gardens
Children walking by contain gold
March 1984
Feelings
The sky is gray
The road is gray
The building is gray
The rain is gray
In the midst of a dead gray
Walked two children
One bright red
One pale green
July 1980
Harbor Sketching
On the pale night sea
Scattered with dawn's fleet
Freshly painted On the taillights
Giant dew glistened
How those bent anchor chains
Wanted to be pulled straight
The iron anchors wanted to shrink aside
To turn into raptor's sharp claws
Free from a coil of rope
The boy only unfurled his body
He squinted his tiny eyes
And began to yearn for the sky
With infinite freedom
The waterfowl are weary
They fold their beautiful wings
Toward folding fans
The swans
Preparing for a long voyage
They dictate from their cages
They advise the clouds
To hold on to their naps
The air is always fresh
.The masts breathe y
The slipping shadows
Cover half the deck
No one reaches out
To lift the dusk
The deeps are silent as evening
Filled with cool hints
The sea-bed of algal filaments
Shines magnificently,
The long-lying sea-bed
Shines magnificently, too.
The sea urchins that lie prone for so long
look very odd
The souls that rest here
always lack the pains of insomnia
Even the obligation to breathe
is fulfilled by the tides
They're not teenagers
Not to stand up suddenly
But if a fleet of ships passes
They also dream of birds. Would dream of flocks of birds
April 1982
Perhaps, I'm blind
Perhaps, I'm blind
I can only touch you with my voice
I can only reach out to you with poems open like palms of my hands
My brothers on the other side of the Atlantic
Red, pale, blue, black
The flowers on the other side of my Atlantic began to weep
The sound traveled through the infinite void
July 1983
The land is crooked
The land is crooked
I can't see you
I can only see from afar
The blue sky over your heart
Blue? It's so blue
That blue is language
I want to make the world feel good
A smile but it's frozen on my lips
Better give me a cloud
Wipe away the sunny hours
My eyes need tears
My sun needs to sleep in peace
January 1981
My Heart Loves the World
My Heart Loves the World
Loves, and on a winter's night
Asked her softly, like a pure
wildfire, kissing all the grass
The grass is warm, and at the end
There's a frozen lake, with perch sleeping at the bottom
My Heart Loves the World
She Dissolved, like a frosty flower
Dissolved into my blood, and she
Flowed kindly, from the sea to the
Mountains, and flowed, and made the eyes blue
Made the mornings rosy
My heart loved the world
I loved, and painted her with my blood
Lovely side-by-side likenesses
The corn and the strings of beads of the stars do not shine
Some are tired and turn their heads
Turn their heads to admire an advertisement
June 1981
I believe in song
I believe in singing
Dawn is loud and clear, and the geese
Rise in rows
On the lighted Floating around the edges
Tiny snowshoe hares
Running as if there were gunshots
Over very low
Fish resting on the side of the sluice
Fog, slowly melting away
Like glutinous paper
As if there were gunshots
Over the little wooden bridge
Best of all were the villages
Those roofs with hard bristles
Some flowers bloom in dreams
Turning smiles into tears
So cleanly
Waiting for a kiss, a teenager
Woke up early
Staring dully at the roofs
Cargo drums tinkled yesterday
He didn't believe in peppermint candies a long time ago
Didn't believe in spring hearts
It's green, green
Transparent
I believe in song
In the freshest cornfields
Seeds that turn to jewels
Wooden castles
Started to cackle and shake, earthquakes
All the windows won't open
Doors, doors. The stairwell
spewed forth ethereal flames
Doors! Behind the door the Madonna
has grown old
Quickly droop its wings and pine a little
Shut off the gas niche lamps
All is silent
The sun is coming out
All is quiet
The sun is coming, and it swims like an amoeba
Swimming, stretching out pseudopods
The >Inside it fills with bright lava
And the curtains flutter before they burn
Reflections suddenly rush into City Hall from all sides
Declaring the occupation
Morning is a young commune
Declaring: confiscation of stars
I believe in the song
Milky clouds dissolve the stained glass
Dripping to the ground
Shaking everywhere with dubious
enthusiasm, fire out of the pipes
Flowing to the ground, sandy soil
Sticky as sugar
Revealing little by little a white-hot desire
Shaking everywhere with dubious
Brightness, breath
Breathe, wake up, wake up
Unceasingly hide the wine
Pump the seven-colored flowers
Splash the world with specks of oil
Pump the seven-colored flowers quickly
Furniture lumbering across the street
Pumping over and over at the water's edge
Giant winds gushing out of the organ cases
Negroes forming a brass band
Thunder rolling down the steps
Rope, quick tether the wind
Rope! Work shoes float on the sea
Oceans are collapsing
Quickly tether canvas flocks
I believe in song
Only song, wet
On the little graveyard
Scattered uncarved stones
Golden gumboots
Recorded wars
I've done my I have done all I can do
The forests and the wheat fields have been harvested clean
I have done all I can do
Only the singing hummingbirds
still fly around the cane
I walked for a long time
Sitting down again and rubbing the dry earth from my hands
After a while
I heard another voice
That of You
plucking the bushes on the other coast
You smiled, the towel had been blown dry
The sky was clouded with pale blue water
You laughed, plucking at the bushes
The sun that seeped through the clouds
Sometimes appearing, sometimes disappearing, you laughed
To the east
Shaking the flurries of showers from the head
I believe in song
March 1983
Designing a Reunion
Coal-ash-stained vehicles
wobbled and rolled in the middle of the road
We meet again
Me, supposedly old
have forgotten how to jump
Smiling like a snapped Straw
And you, how shall I put it
Eyes like drops of golden honey
Healthy enough to want to rule the world
Wanting to shine on the morning sun and bread
The station raises its arms
But its tentacles droop in the dark sky
You ask me
What I'm doing
And I say, I'm I'm making up an allegory
At the edge of a square
there are many steps
which are so untidy that they are damaged like teeth
and the crevices are netted with sand
My duty
is to take a walk
there to study the laws of traffic of ants on crosses
Surely such a thing is not to be done, and I'm not sure that it is. p>
Of course such work
isn't much
It's almost dark
Go away, turn away
Let the red and green market sing behind
The dying flowers
Still surrounded by the grasses
Warming up to the big heifers smiling all the while
Pouring pure white milk into the Darkness
After the soul is quiet
The blood has many more ages to flow
March 1982
No coloring intent
My land
Fevered like the palms of my hands
My winters
Sliding
He's melting
In the faintly sticky of love
in becoming fresh
foam and fish
and the dog would appear
would turn his back
like hiding a thousand years of shame
far away from the broken bricks
far away
from the city of sniffing
yellowish, whitish watery breath
driven into the field ridges
He'll sneeze
Then hit it
Let the bubble-bagged fields
Bulge
Slowly squeeze the sky
Hit it
Don't stop
In the sting of wakefulness
Stop is the rock
It's the wriggling beastie on the black graveyard
The twisted beastie< boat to sail away
She was imprisoned by a little spell
A digitally curled tongue
She guarded only the fine waves of the Gulf of Aden
She kept thinking
The man who loved her was chopping down a poplar
The tree was being lifted into the boat yard, and the birds chirped loudly
Pistols went off
Dreams tinkled on the liquor cabinet
Someone lost to death on the spot
November 1984
Many hours, like smoke
There were many hours, like smoke
Many smokes departed from the flowers and grasses
The little red eyes were triumphantly bright
I know these are tears streaming up to the sky
I know it's a little late
These flowers are turning into patterns
They're turning into delicate vials of water in candlelight
It's a little late, the sky is getting darker
The huge flowers reach out to us
The huge splash of tearful dawn
The colorless, harmless tears of the darkness
I know they're still talking about yesterday
I know they're still talking about yesterday<
They're saying
The bullet hit the brass plate
The voice is gone, there's smoke
There's tumbled over sugar paper
Many fragments of failure sinking in the harbor
It's a little late, the water's turning to illusory dust
Today without time
Over all the supple dreams
Light is a stream
It has been walking carefully for a thousand years
September 1983
Birthday
Because of the birthday
I was given a colorful money clip
I didn't have any money
And I didn't like those tedious pennies
I ran behind that quaint, big mound of dirt
to see the little flowers that loved me
I said, I've got a storehouse now
for flower seeds
The money clip was really full of them
Some of them were black and shiny
Like strange little eyes
And I said, Don't be afraid
I'm going to take you all to the spring home
There you'll get
There you'll get
a short green blouse
and a cloth hat with colorful lace
I've got a little money clip now
I don't want any money
No pennies that won't sprout
I just want to be filled with little flower seeds
I want to know their birthdays
December 1981
Just in that little village
Just in that little village
Dressed in the garb of a ginkgo tree
There was a man, and it was me
Squinting my morning eyes
White shimmering sands
More minute fly-shells unbroken
Transparent mountains lurked around me
Spring like water of the wind
No seaweed in the lake of your eyes
A village without paint
Watching the sun under deep green water
We love the village of the sun
Living in your love
Breathing once in a long time
Far away from the moorland shimmers the water flow
Village with leaves flying
We have a clearing
Not to ask what fate knows
November 1983
Hometown
Rain, sowing moans,
The sky looks like it's been hit with gas,
The paths are covered in slush,
The trees, tall and short,
Drooped in dark green cloaks.
No one left again,
and no one came.
The rusted round door tilted,
revealing a patch of grass.
August 1979
Separate Seas
I'm not going to the sea
to fetch blue ice
I'm going to the sea to catch fish
Those white-haired waves
are leaning against the reef
examining the old army hats
taking turns to sigh
You say, the sea
is
the sea
where you say.
There's delicious ice floating
Don't sigh
And don't catch the old fisherman's goldfish
The sirens are like hydrozoans
They're very small in guts
Don't fish for oriental bottles
There's a devil in there who's angry
I didn't bring my gear
Not a heavy suspicion and a gun
I brought my heart Went
I thought, to the open sea
Just say, love you
The fish will follow me
Swimming to land
I said, don't you close the window
Don't you move the lamp
Let it burn in the gold enameled floral pattern
I like delicate praise
Like the sea breeze loves your hair
Don't close the window
Let the sea breeze caress it thoroughly
I am trying to make you dream
There's a shadow
Floating on the deep abyss of the sea
The rain is pounding on the planks of the ship
There's another world where there's no cry
The iron anchor silently
Passes through the A clump of seaweed
You say, can hear
Singing between the storms
Standing like a man
Shaking the thick brown rope
You say, can you still see
The water opening up
Underneath is
The dark smooth current
I'm still thinking about the bottle
rising slowly from the broken bones of a ship
it was made in China
painted with pale green Song Dynasty water patterns
painted with fish and starry nights
the pale green water patterns were their conversations
And the bay
the pointy-hat cottage
that you
windows open in the morning
You slumber in your dark hair
Hands hiding in the fine silken sand
That china vase
Will still be turning
August 1982
I don't know how to love you
I don't know how to love you
Smugglers still breathing on the island
That crabbing little light
is still on, red
Very mysterious, heathen
Still sailing in the icy water
Rubbing oil on the animal-skin sails
Waxing the oars
Rolling the bilge's damp casks
around
I don't know how to love you
There's murderous weapons on the shore, there's black boots
there are nights in police uniforms
there are pull shirts, shells cracked
clouds as rough as limestone
clouds that are gathering
that are weeping silently
salty and low, crying
little girls in the grassy blues
without releasing their mackerel
I don't know how to love you
in the puddles of varying heights
there are oysters, and a
path pressed by rocks
leads to the bottom of the sea, where the water drops
rattle
quenches the torch that plummets
Lead black and congealed
Water drops rattle
For a century, the water drops
I don't know how to love you
On the way back to the village
I turned into a dog, tirelessly
intimidating the ocean, forbidding
it to walk in, whoever sleeps
I'm still barking
making echoes
Scales glistening in the soft earth
Winds sighing in the rough earth
Flat snails licking Tear stains
I don't know how to love you
There's iron on the door, and rusty rain on the sea
Some sleep in beds
Some float on the sea
Some sink to the bottom of the sea
Comets are a kind of cutlery
The moon is a silver cup
Always floating, filled with the slice of
Beautiful lemon, beautiful
Stop it, I don't know
I don't know myself
February 1983
Coming
Please open the window and caress the fluttering autumn breeze
Summer is like a cup of strong tea, clarified at the moment
No more nightmares, no more curled up shadows
p>My breath is a cloud, my wish is a song
Please open the window and I will come
Your black hair is floating, behind you is the clear sky
Rattling rooftops, soft flags and people
They walk tiny and don't raise the gray skies
I've already come, no more waiting hard
Just close your eyes and you can Find the lips
There was once a boat that floated from the riverbank to the steep wall
The sunlight tilted like wood pulp and dipped in cold dreams
Ho, there is no king of kings or spirit of all spirits
You're my beloved, my indestructible life
I'll be in your blood, telling of all that's far away
The earth is a mausoleum covered with the sound of memories
August 1982
The Alley
The Alley
The Alley
Curved and long
No door
No window
I take an old key
Tapping on the thick wall
June 1980
Sometimes I really want
Sometimes I really want
Sometimes I really want to <
To go to the seaside all night long
To the summer resort
To the middle of the tired dunes
To collect warm bottles of ___
White as daylight, green as sea water
And brownish-yellow
And angry that no one pays attention to it
And I know
That the one who sings drunken songs The man
will come again, the coins in his pocket
will still be wrong-toothed as usual
He smiles a crooked smile
and sprays contempt in my face over and over again
Oh, great, I'll be waiting
Waiting and waiting and waiting
Then it's time, the big bells will boom
I'll throw it all away in the tremor
To enjoy it.
To enjoy the pleasantness of the bursting
I'm going to leave the world in beautiful dangerous pieces
Let the red-eyed gods and bosses
Take their time cleaning up
June 1982
Maybe, I shouldn't have written the letter
Maybe, I shouldn't have written the letter
I shouldn't have spoken with my eyes
I shouldn't have spoken with my eyes
I am bound to the rock by a coarse life
Bearing the thirst of dreams
Bearing the sound of the auctioneer's valuation
Crawling over my body
I will be decided by the world
I will be decided by the world
But never decided by the world
I strive
As if just to tighten the noose
I shouldn't write a letter
I shouldn't, please don't read it
Keep it in the flame
Until the long night comes
July 1981
Photographs
Sunshine
Flashes in the sky
Buried by dark clouds again
The storm washes away,
the negatives of my soul.
June 1979
It was winter on the yellow road
It was winter on the yellow road
Pebbles piled up on the side of the road
Dust rested in the pale sunlight
Keeping its body heat in the cold
We were tired of walking
You said, "Can't see that empty house
Maybe there isn't, let's sit down
There's an earth bank here
I'm familiar with the hay on the earth bank
They break
offering what little affection they have left
They tell me
Everything changes, and in the night
Even the kindest winds turn into wild beasts
Letting out a wilderness Howl
They say: don't sit still too long
Yet you fall asleep
Very lightly against my shoulder
Your long brown hair spreads out on my chest
Silently
Wearied and forgetful of the fluttering
Sun, sun can't wait
Sympathetic glances grow faint
I lost the words to wake you up
It was the yellow road in winter
Darkness began to grow in the shadows
The first star didn't cry
It held back golden tears
You leaned gently against my shoulder
In my breath that wouldn't cool
Your lips quivered in dreams Speaking in your sleep
I know that it was asking your mother's forgiveness
October 1981
Doorway
How I wish, there was a doorway
Morning, the sun was shining on the grass
We stood
Holding on to our doorway
The doorway was low but the sun was bright
The grass Is bearing its seed
The wind is shaking its leaves
We stand, and without speaking
It is very good
There is a door, and it need not be opened
It is very good if it is ours
Morning, and the night must yet wander
We give him the six-stringed lute
We do not go away, we need
The land, the land that needs to never be destroyed
We'll ride it
through life
The land is rough, sometimes narrow
Yet it has a history
A share of the sky, a share of the moon
A share of the dew and the mornings
We love the land
We stood, and we dug with our wooden shoes with
the dirt, and the door was hot from the sun
We leaned gently
Very nice
The grass behind the wall
won't grow any bigger
It only touches the sunlight, with its fingertips
August 1982
Season - Preserving the dusk and the mornings
One
How many years I have always
lived in the valley where you breathe
I built my own house
mended hedges, listened to the spring as it whispered
sleep, and there were transparent paws between the purple stamens
I felt the time
become meek
hovering over my head
The sun was sleepy Like a lion
The sun is sleepy like a lion
The shadows of many bat flowers
The rocks that only appear at dusk
The rocks that repeat their words to me
The streams that repeat their words to me
White trees and deep jungles
Two
I drink of that stream every day
I have a copper vase
I know that the east is infinite, then
the west is infinite, the sea is invading my estuary step by step
lakeshore
Thousands of miles of white dunes
Eagles on the barren city, my cabin full of cogs
Golden cogs of happiness
Thousands of miles The sea against my cheek
Children's grass shaking uneasily
My daily wish heh
Little seaweed shaking uneasily by the steps
You didn't put coins on round stones
Ice's minnows swimming
Your ebony brow bows down to the dawn
Three
I want the gold in your eyes
The gold mine of the sun
You've been shepherding sheep on very small islands
The Red Sea is your lips
You've been shepherding sheep on very small tropical islands
Dragging a tired
whip amongst the clear sheep-toothed plants that the sun can't close his fingers around
Why, I don't love your silvery snout line
That smile of centimeter by centimeter of silver, that morning
The beautiful abyss that appears under the heather
The eternal night and the shells chirping in devotion to the morning
Hear the air
The air praises me for being from Rome
The mineral sands are at my feet, and I'm a god of today's bells
The four
Lock the doors on all sides
My hand reaches for your breath
Flies and old men in the street, searing hot burning copper
Flaming at noon, noon night refuses to move away
His fingers, deep lonely burning
Flames in the night, oh, belonging to the end of twilight
My hand converges at the side of your neck
In the Cool pass winds grow
Silent on your smooth crags
Many, many books, seasons beyond the stones
I turn gently toward you
My hair grows in curled aromas
Autumn comes, and autumn brings many leaves
October 1983
Sacrifice
I put your vows
To love
Can on a candle
See how it is
Drowned in tears
Burned out by the fire of the heart
See how the last thought
Goes extinct
How it is blown away by the wind
June, 1980
On the wide and bright world
On this wide, bright world
People walk around
We surround ourselves
Like a horse
Around a stake
Occasionally, a dandelion flutters in this wide, bright world
And no one tells them
That by the sun Hot all life
Can't be far away
From the coming night
Death is a careful harvester
Not leaving a single ear of barley behind