Poetry

A squirrel on a stone bull 
revives a genre, 
after a black rose 
fell on the lips of tremor. 
 
One amphibian was always there 
part in water and part on land. 
Climbing on words, 
to become an avis - 
 
the avatar of a flying god. 
There was no song - 
on the bridge of tears. Let us 
share a lost dream. 
 
Do you find seashell in the 
desert of diction? Here once a 
river flowed under the rocks. 
 
Friends don't squeeze the moon. 
It was honey in a blue urn, 
collecting the morning rays.