Poetry

No thought was enough 
from a stunning fall. 
I am leaving the paradise. 
 
In urn the past moves like 
a weightless peony. I am 
touching your lips. 
 
The drowned wand. Can you 
pick up the future from the time's 
lake? I am a fish now. 
 
Tiny beads on shut eyes. Are 
you watching my burning house? 
I am still inside. 
 
His blindness or my grace; 
when you would like to kiss? 
The pricks were on the floor.