Wind on the Veranda

In this veranda
No more wind noise
The sky is so free
A room is waiting for the evening
You say, "Go away before nightfall."
I hear the wind coming toward us

At the piano
Rubaiyat's lines are singing
Outside
The seconds and the train have departed
Before the first verse
Before the word to be completed
Before the day knowing where else to arrive

I also know:
Our loneliness are getting ready to be disappointed,
To grieve without words
The trees also share the cold outside the window
To perpetuate something that may not exist tomorrow















[CZ-lacalifusa021714/the sun : the eyes of my heart - from the old grasshopper]


Just as Orpheus who was trying to raise the dead Eurydice from the underworld, poetry tried to lift the death of the secluded bed. But it failed, as Orpheus also failed. Death, solitude, underworld, all almost completely still lagging, far away in the most far-flung place.