Poetry

Do trees quiver
in dark at night,
exploring their original skins
under the starlight?

Why do they talk
when we sleep?
Living is very cheap
and dying was expensive.

Would you mind
to buy death, letter by
letter in understanding
the market?

The Sunday moon was
always beautiful. You stay
on terrace to say goodbye
before closing the book.

There was eternal pain,
outside and inside.