Poezja

Mind-set of fractured
faith, falters.
Now you want to ignore the god.

The bald cypress
hides the buttress roots.
Eagle was flying very low.

The clouds speak
in favor of sky. You cannot
heal the sun's wounds.

Flames are mine.
You burn the poppies to
float the arrogance.

Half burnt-out letters
of a lover, make a glory
of withdrawal of summer.